Bonfire of Dreams
by Eternity's Angel of Mercy
Summary: Book Three. The Varden has suffered losses and heartache after the betrayal at the Burning Plains. Another dragon egg hatching proves a good omen for the Varden, but can they really trust their newest Rider?
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I don't own it! Don't sue!_

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**Prologue**

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There was something about the way their voices mingled together in the twilight that made her feel insignificant. His so calming and familiar, a voice of someone she had grown to trust with her life. The other's voice was stricken with desperation as it rose and fell, so similar to his voice, but so different.

There was something about the way that their shadows were thrust onto the tent, dark and misshapen by lantern light. One was a thin, tall, regal looking patch of darkness against the canvas, the other a hunkered figure with a beard disfiguring the facial shape.

And there was something about the slightly copper tang in the air, something about the blood that had been tracked into their fortress, which made Arya feel as if nothing had been won. Hundreds of thousands of troops had been reduced to nothing; to a feast for crows.

She knew that Nasuada was mourning, alone in her tent, wishing for some sort of feminine comfort… But Arya could never help in such an instance. She was a hardened warrior, one who was used to losing everything –and everyone- she held dear to her. And although Arya's heart cried out for Nasuada's numerous losses –the newest of which was Murtagh, now that he had sides with Galbatorix – she had no way of comforting the ruler.

After all, Arya could hardly comfort herself.

She turned her gaze away from Eragon's tent, the only one lit. The two figures were wrestling now, something like brotherly laughter coming to greet Arya's sharp ears.

_He's lucky to have found his cousin,_Arya thought wryly. _But what madness will ensue now? What other horrors could face us now that we have yet another of Garrow's brood?_She turned her back on the sight and slowly weaved her way between the thousands of tents littering the valley. She found her small sleeping quarters, just off of Nasuada's, and slipped inside.

She decided at that moment that, no matter what Nasuada, Eragon, or his cousin said, she would accompany Eragon anywhere he went. After being unable to beat Murtagh, Eragon had proven that some things were not within his reach. Yet.

Arya was going to work on fixing that.

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_Author's Note:_

After getting four reviews on my one-shot Eragon story, I realized that I was not the only one who had finished Eldest. So, since a few others have, as well, I decided I might as well start my series-based, full-length story. And here was the short (very short) prologue. I promise that the other chapters are not this short. Anyway, leave me some nice comments, please.

Love love,

Eternity


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Spells, Traitors and Swords**

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Eragon was awoken from his trance, quite rudely, by the trumpeting of Saphira directly outside of his tent. He started, throwing his thin blanket off of him in haste, bolting to his feet. He didn't bother with dressing before throwing back the flap of his tent, eyes wide. _Saphira, what-_

_I'm sorry for waking you, little one. There's a man out here that refuses to go away._

Eragon sighed. _Let him through._ He watched as the spines of Saphira's back moved away from his line of sight, giving way to a small, lithe soldier Eragon remembered healing the previous day. "Is there something you need?" Eragon asked, noting the man's firm expression.

"Yes, sir… Lady Nasuada requests your presence, along with that of your cousin, within the hour for breakfast. Shall I pass on your word of acceptance?"

Eragon ran a hand over his face, nodding in reluctance. He didn't get nearly enough rest and he was sure that Roran didn't, either. "Yes, we shall be there." He watched the man depart, limping visibly, before retreating into the tent. He found Roran already awake and pulling on a new tunic of fresh white wool.

"Why do you think she wishes me to accompany you?" Roran asked as he stepped into the new leggings sent from Nasuada the previous night.

Eragon had wondered the same thing and the only conclusion he could come to was good manners. "You are my cousin, Roran. Nasuada would hardly greet you civilly and then forget your existence. After all, who was it that killed the Twins? Aye, we of the Varden are very grateful to you."

Roran seemed to accept that answer and sat silently as Eragon pulled on one of the tunics gifted to him by Islanzadi and the elves. The crimson and russet colors went well with the mood that he could feel emanating from outside –a slight peek of enlivenment, an undertone of sorrow.

After he pulled on his boots, Eragon and Roran made their way to the large tent housing Nasuada. The Varden's ruler sat in a high-backed, plain chair, her dark hair pulled back and her even darker skin adorned only in a plain white dress. Her eyes seemed slightly bloodshot, but Eragon had expected it. She had been put through much and sleeplessness was something she would have to become accustomed to.

"Eragon, Roran, thank you for coming," she greeted, standing. "Please, sit. The food was brought in only a moment ago. Would you both like milk?"

Eragon accepted the offer, but Roran insisted on only water. They both sat, as did Nasuada, and servants seemed to pour from the sides of the room, placing platters down and pouring drinks. Most chose to leave after that, but one, a young woman with a red face, continued to bluster about, cleaning everything she could find. Elva, the little girl with the voice much too grown up for her, stood off the side, watching the woman with mild interest.

"Elva told me that you knew of a way to reverse the enchantment you beset upon her?" Nasuada asked, taking a cover off of one of the trays. Sweet smells of cooked meat wavered up to Eragon's nose, so tempting yet disgusting at the same time.

"I do," Eragon replied, picking up an apple and glaring stonily at the meat.

"Good," Nasuada murmured with a relieved sigh. "Then you can perform the rites after breakfast. Is that fine with you, Elva?"

Elva huffed a bit, as if put off by this, and answered boldly, "I suppose so. I've lived with it for years; I suppose an hour won't hurt." She then looked back at the servant woman, saying flippantly, "You might want to stay away from knives today, by the way."

The tent flap was pushed aside and the figure that had caused Eragon's heart such pain, humiliation, and utter devotion entered. Arya's long, midnight hair fell around her artistic, chiseled face. A black tunic and leggings encased her thin body that bowed respectfully to Nasuada before slipping into the only vacant chair –beside Eragon.

"Forgive me for running late, I had a small matter to attend to," she murmured, her lilting voice causing Eragon's heart to clench. She nodded good morning to him before turning her attention to Roran. "Master Roran, I daresay we have much to thank you for. Will you and your kinsmen be staying with us for a time?" Eragon noticed that when selecting her food, she never once glanced at the slices of boar. She instead plucked up a pear and a flaky pastry.

Roran looked slightly uncomfortable when both females' eyes turned on him. "I believe so. I'm afraid we have nowhere else to turn. We are willing to fight for our lodgings."

Nasuada nodded slowly. "As you can see, our lodging is not much… but yet you are welcome to it." Almost without warning, she changed subject, eyes turning to Eragon. "What plans will you carry out now?"

The words startled Eragon out of his deep thoughts. He was still pondering the issue of the shortage of food and accommodations. Unease bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. He must tell her; as his liege, she had a right to know. "I need to go to Helgrind." He paused, watching shocked horror pass over Nasuada's face. "Roran's fiancée, Katrina, was kidnapped. I scryed her last night –she lives still, but for how long, I…"

Roran had grown very still to Eragon's right, his hand halfway between plate and mouth. Arya's face was perfectly composed, yet there was a hint of urgency in her large emerald eyes. Nasuada had managed to blink away her surprise. She finally murmured, "I see. As a Rider, you are bound to me; yet, as a man, your loyalties lie to your left and right – Ellesmera and family. So be it." She sighed deeply, looking much older than her years. "You must do what you must. When shall you depart?"

Eragon tried to breath past his relief. "As soon as Hrothgar's funeral comes to pass." The thought of the kindly, proud dwarf's passing made Eragon's heartstrings twinge painfully, but he had learned the only way to keep his sanity was to focus on the present, not the past.

Arya stood abruptly, startling the other three. "You will require a new sword." Her napkin had fluttered to the ground, seeming as if brushed by an imaginary wind. Arya bent, plucking it up, but not before gently touching Eragon's arm. Her mind assiduously reached out to his. _Meet me at Orik's tent after visiting Trianna… she has been harassing me to pass along a message to you. 'I need his wisdom,' were her exact words._

Arya replaced her napkin on the table as if their mental connection had not occurred. Her eyes roved over to Nasuada. "I will seek your council at a later time. I am needed elsewhere currently."

Eragon smiled slightly, murmuring in the ancient language, "Thank you." She gave him a fleeting glance and slight nod of the head before striding out of the tent.

Eragon turned his eyes back to Nasuada, who was gingerly picking apart a meaty pastry but eating none. Finally, she spoke. "Our small victory has given the men hope. The coming of the elves also fuels them. Yet there is so little food. The meat before you is from Orrin's last reserve. It will be salted and then stored, and hopefully then it will hold us off for a small period. When the elves arrive-"

"Worry not about their need for meat," Eragon interrupted, rather rudely, yet hoping to squash at least one of the young ruler's problems. "None eat meat."

Nasuada did, in fact, look relived. "Well, you both must have pressing matters to attend to. You are free to leave. Oh, and Roran? Do invite your men to come in to eat some of this food. They were so helpful, it is the least I can do."

Roran gave a quick, uneasy bow, thanking her in his quiet way. As he opened the tent flap, Eragon caught the scent of decaying bodies, seared from the sun. Eragon was becoming used to it, yet some looked ill. Men were working quickly to pile bodies and burn them, hoping to reduce the putrid stench of death.

"…Eragon, if you would be so kind as to assist Elva?"

Eragon nodded, turning to the girl. Although he had learned so much and all he had mastered was filed away in his brain, simply waiting to be tapped into, he was worried. He had already brought so much pain on the girl –what if he only worsted things for her by pulling her divine sight away?

Coming to stand before her, Eragon looked at her tiny face, so benevolent, so _cold_… and she smiled, a bit wickedly, before saying, "Before my curse is lifted, Shadeslayer, I would have you know your potential doom… You will find family is not as strong of a bond as you would think. Soon, Shadeslayer. Soon you will find a link that is much more powerful than that of childhood."

Eragon closed himself to her words, feeling something inside of him shiver at her too-grown-up tone. He reached out to Elva, taking her face gently in his hands. "Live again as you had before I blessed you with your curse. Live again, child of the sapphire dragon, child of Saphira. Live again."

He felt his energy flood from his calloused fingertips and into the girl. He focused on the great balls of energy within her body, the pulsing charkas within her. He fought back the darkness that labored within them, fought for her impure body, being eaten whole by guilt and angry and those horrible visions…

After what felt like a century, actually only a brief moment, Elva pulled back, her large eyes astonished. "I… I'm not…" her voice, now trilling with a sweet childishness, murmured softly. She swallowed and whispered, "It feels so empty now… now without…" Her fingers stole away to her forehead beneath the fringe of dark bangs. The gedwey ignasia was no longer there.

As if dazed, Elva turned and wandered out, her feet shuffling as she went.

Eragon felt drained, yet he stood slowly, glancing over at Nasuada. "I did the right thing, did I not?"

Nasuada managed a bare imitation of a smile. "Even if it wasn't the right thing to do, she wanted it." She was silent for a time before sighing. "Trianna wishes to speak with you urgently."

Eragon did not feel like telling his liege that he already learned this from Arya, so he thanked her generously before heading out. Eragon made a loop around the tents, bound for the Du Vrangr Gata's headquarters –also known as Trianna's tent. He was not but five feet from it when the flap was flung open and the lovely sorceress herself strode out, looking furious. He mouth was opened, as if she was about to yell at him, but she faltered.

"Your energies are low, Rider. What have you done?" She stood aside, holding the tent flap open for him. He ducked into the darkened canvas room. The inside was not as lavish as Nasuada's, yet Eragon found it much more fascinating. There were dark mixtures everywhere; on the floor, in long-necked flasks, sitting on collapsible desks and shelves… and scrolls, as well. There was a tiny table, practically hidden under scrolls covered in the common tongue. Two goblets sat alert, as if waiting to be of usefulness.

"Sit," Trianna ordered when she graced in. Her long dark hair, slightly limp due to the humidity, cascaded down her back and around her thin form. Her pale arms reached to the top of one of her tall shelves, grabbing a flask. "What have you done to so drastically weaken yourself?" she repeated, her voice softer.

"I healed Elva," he replied, gratefully taking a seat at the table. "I'm sorry about not coming sooner. Last night I reconciled with my cousin and Arya only just told me of your need."

Trianna moved away from the shelf, bringing the flagon with her. She sat across from Eragon, pouring the two goblets with the dark liquid inside of the flask. "Drink," she ordered, not unkindly, before taking a draft of her own. Her body seemed to loosen and her muscles relaxed. Her body fell into the chair's shape with liquid ease.

Eragon took a hesitant sip, pleased when he found the taste to be that of crushed berries with a hint of spice. He felt his minor aches from the battle the day before ebb away. His pounding head and depleted magic seemed to recede. "What was that?" he asked, feeling much too good after just delving into such a deep spell.

Trianna smiled, a small twitch to her lips. "A home brew of mine. It helps replenish magic and heal minor aches." She watched Eragon for a long moment, her beautiful blue eyes very heavy. It was slightly uncomfortable for Eragon –he could not deny a slight attraction for the sorceress… she was beautiful. But he was still pining over Arya, still hoping that some day she might return his feelings… It seemed wrong for him to have any outside attractions.

Finally, Trianna spoke. "As leader of the Du Vrangr Gata, I had to make a very difficult decision… what to do with the followers of the Twins. Oh yes," she murmured softly, laughing humorlessly, "they had followers. _Still have_ followers." She swallowed, her eyes going down to the woodwork of the table. A random scroll caught her eye. "It is treason, isn't it? I will have to kill them, won't I?"

Although he had not been particularly close with the sorceress, he knew how deeply this must be affecting her; he had never seen her so disturbed, so afraid, and he hoped he never would again. It took him three tries before he managed a soft, "It is… and you will. If you would rather, I could pass the word to Nasuada. She would take control of the matter if you-"

"No," Trianna said venomously, standing abruptly and beginning to pace. "No. I must show my worth if I am to lead the Du Vrangr Gata. If I cannot kill two men who disobey our Lady, then I have no right being here." She turned deep blue eyes onto Eragon. "Don't you agree?"

He hesitated at her anger. He had heard the whispers, and he was sure she had, too; whispers that Eragon should be the leader of the Du Vrangr Gata. But he didn't want the position, and he especially didn't want to make an adversary of Trianna. She was a good witch to have on his side, but she would no doubt be a formidable enemy. "I agree."

She nodded; she seemed saddened but only whispered, "You should go, then. I will summon the two here and… It shall be taken care of."

Eragon nodded, standing. "Thank you, Trianna… for the potion," he murmured, slight uncomfortable. He put a hand on her shoulder, a soft, uncertain touch.

She smiled slightly up at him and repeated, "You should go… But don't hesitate to stop by some night if your dragon ceases to keep you warm enough."

Eragon left, feeling his cheeks aflame. He couldn't believe what he was experiencing. She was attractive, she was smooth talking, and she had a way about her that ensnared men. Eragon was not safe around her and he even feared her slightly. He feared her in the way he loved Arya –one's attraction was the dark and macabre, the other's was the mysterious beauty of nature.

He came face-to-face with the elf woman of his thoughts outside of Orik's tent. She looked slightly impatient. "I was wondering when Trianna would let you out of her talons long enough to come," she stated, turning on her heel and marching into the tent. Eragon sighed, following her in. Orik was sitting on a small pallet, another dwarf curled up in the corner, snoring fitfully.

"You'll need a sword," Orik said plainly. His voice was hardly as spirited as it had been before the war… before the casualties of that horrible day. "I can offer you a temporary one, one from the dwarvan line. But you must promise me to care for it until you find a suitable replacement," he said firmly.

"I swear it," he avowed solemnly.

"Right then," Orik murmured, pulling a long sword, even by human standards, from beneath his pallet. He offered it to the Rider, murmuring, "This is said to be the legendary weapon of our creator. Cherish it as if it were your own limb."

Eragon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and grasping the hilt. "Thank you, Orik," he whispered, overcome with gratitude as the beginnings of tears blurred his vision.

"Do not thank me," he murmured, glancing up at Eragon with a small smile. "Thank Arya for talking me into such an act of foolishness."

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_Author's note:_

I must first apologize for the first chapter being a bit on the slow side. I am trying to pace myself when it comes to this story, much as Master Paolini does. Also, another point I want to make here, the slight attraction between Eragon and Trianna means nothing. I promise. I may delve into a little something between the two, but they will BY NO MEANS be the coupling in this story. (That was to cover my own ass from the A/E shippers). Now leave some lovely reviews for me!

Love love,

Eternity


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 3**

**Return to Farthen Dur**

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The unnamed sword, Arya had called it. Orik had refused to even speak of it once Eragon took it into his hands. It was as if, to the little dwarf, the weapon was just like any other 20" broadsword.

But it was not, and Eragon himself could tell simply by holding the blade. The ancient thing was larger than even Zar'roc had been, but felt much lighter and more malleable when swung. The silver blade was double-edged with a single dwarf rune upon it. Barzul, he had been told by Orik in a hushed whisper. Ill-fate. The hilt was a mixture of color and design, though, making up for the blade's plainness; a looping band of gold ran about the base of the silver hilt, three sapphires the size of bird eggs around it. Onyx inlays gave the hilt a look of elegance. Eragon was delighted to find that he could use the sapphires to store mall amounts of energy.

His delight was aborted, though, when Arya announced her decision to journey with Roran and him. Eragon knew better that to tell her it was too dangerous, but he refused to simply agree to her terms. "Arya," he began softly, "this is a personal vendetta. It is my family's problem, not one of the Varden. I do not think Roran would appreciate you coming…"

Arya's emerald eyes flashed dangerously and Eragon knew that he should have kept his mouth shut. "Eragon, it seems you still fail to grasp the situations at hand. Everything you do is of the Varden's concern. If you die on this 'personal vendetta' of yours, where does that leave us? I will tell you where –at Galbatorix's mercy. And where would that leave your liege? Or me?"

The last was uttered quietly, yet it was certainly the most painful for Eragon to hear. How could she speak this way, tugging at every one of his heartstrings, when her feelings were not mutual?

"Seeing the result of your fight against Murtagh pains me," she continued. Detached. Cold. "I will help you as best as I know how in magic and melee combat. Maybe your cousin may learn a few things." Without another word, she left Orik's tent –much as Orik had, in fact, after handing over Barzul.

The snoring dwarf in the corner remained oblivious.

…

It had taken three days to return to Farthen Dur for the funerary service. His cousin had accompanied Eragon, as well as the delegate sent on Nasuada and Islanzadi's behalf – Arya. Arya rode at the front of the procession, never speaking, not even at meals. Roran had been silent, as well, more for the reason of feeling out of place with the elven warrior. The barren peaks of Farthen Dur did not make themselves apparent soon enough in Eragon's opinion.

Horthgar's funeral had been taxing on all present; save for one. Arya had stood through the entire procession, clear eyed and silent. She did not weeping nor show remorse. Her proud body stood erect as if unaffected.

Even Roran, standing directly beside Eragon, seemed crestfallen. Although he had not known the dwarf - of his kindly, proud demeanor - Roran had the grace to look saddened.

Orik made a soft speech, his words slightly clipped and hurried, eyes burning in unshed tears. Eragon could not even remember what words the dwarf had used, but he remembered the haunting, saddened tone. And then, his words began to register. "I would like to request the Rider and one of Horthgar's chosen brethren, Eragon, to speak."

Eragon moved as if he were in a daze. He had not been forewarned of this, although he had a feeling he should have guessed. After all, he was the only human to be taken in as one of the dwarf race. He was a brother to them, just as he was a vital link to all of the elves due to his gift from the fire dragon. He took his place in front of the vast amounts of warriors, all stony-faced and saddened. He opened his mouth, unsure what would come out, but intent on speaking from his heart.

"None can say enough in order to give Horthgar the praise he deserved. He did not care what race you were, what color of skin, or what language you spoke… He was noble and proud, one that would accept help from friends yet never go out of his way to burden others. He joins his ancestors now, encased in stone and eternal. His name will not be forgotten, so long as I live. I swear it." The last part he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

Eragon felt a tear slip from his left eye, followed by one on his right. To his left, Saphira let out a haunting trumpet, her long neck arching gracefully toward the blazing sun. _You did well, little one, _she rumbled gently in his mind. He could hear the sadness tingeing her voice. He slowly began to turn, to retreat to his cousin's side, when Orik placed a gentle hand on his elbow. "Help us lower our King into the stone, Rider. He would have wanted that."

Eragon felt slightly unsteady and lightheaded when he hefted the heavy stone slab, bearing the fallen king. Horthgar's face had the combined fierceness of a warrior and the gentle pride of a ruler etched on his face. He looked peaceful, as if he were only dreaming. Eragon closed his eyes, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He and the other dwarves, of whom rested the slab on their thick shoulders, marched through the winding corridors of Farthen Dur until they came to a large, cavernous room filled with slabs of different rock –onyx, hematite, basalt, granite… And to Eragon's left was an open tomb of layered sandstone inlayed with milky quartz.

He helped the other dwarves lower the great Ruler into the tomb, watching in sorrow as three of them turned and grasped the lid. Slowly it was slid over the tomb, locking Horthgar forever more in stone.

…

Eragon watched as Saphira snuffed a large piece of meat before placing her back to it. She turned large, jewel-like eyes onto Eragon, asking softly, _Are you all right, little one?_

_No,_ he sighed mentally, lying back on his small cot. _I feel so empty… we have lost so much, Saphira. And I know dwelling on it will never change things, but what else do I have to do? I am asked to stay here for an extra day so that they may hold a celebration for my adoption… and all I can think to do is sulk. How can we celebrate when a wonderful man just died?_

_They need to be reminded that there is happiness in the small things, _Saphira cooed gently, nuzzling Eragon with her massive head. _They cannot overburden themselves in sorrow, Eragon, just as you cannot. You see how Arya is… her sorrow is kept locked away from others and it eats her alive. Speak with your cousin of your sorrows, or even Orik. When you speak to them, they will listen. But tonight, when you are given your feast, you must put that sorrow behind you. Be humble, be kind, but do not be cheerless. You must be festive tonight; you will drink and you will dance. Promise me this?_

Eragon smiled, unable to keep the small tears brought on by her speech. He ran a hand over her mighty jaw, murmuring, "I promise you this."

…

Eragon, surprisingly, found that many of the dwarves were merry, pouring mead and ale, talking jubilantly, and patting Saphira warmly as she passed them. There were still some who sulked, and others still who glared venomously at Eragon before leaving. He had been prepared for it, though. After his last trip to Farthen Dur, he hadn't expected everyone to be in agreement with his sudden brotherhood. A few human, who had not followed the Varden out to Surda, remained with the dwarves, talking and laughing as if one of them.

And for all Eragon knew, they might be.

The music was spirited and, after signing at least fifteen scrolls to legalize his adoption into the dwarvan family, he was allowed to mingle. An older dwarf woman led him off for a dance, only letting him go after he was out of breath and in need of water. He had never thought such a tiny woman could be so spirited in her dancing. Eragon, smiling, headed over to the bowls of numerous drinks, bypassing the kegs of mead. He had learned the hard way that a long night of drinking left one's head spinning. He feared if he drank tonight, tomorrow on his trip back to Surda he might fall off of Saphira.

He caught sight of Arya and Roran, who looked as if they were deep in conversation. Something inside of Eragon welled up in irrational anger. Saphira, on the other side of the room, seemed to sense it, for she asked, _What is it?_

_Nothing,_ Eragon replied shortly, ending contact. He poured himself a small glass of water, taking a draft, and stared stonily at the back of him cousin's head. _What is it you two are talking about? _Eragon thought to himself. He and Arya had never spoken like that.

Just as the thought made Eragon's anger bubble up again, Arya glanced up, casually, her green eyes hooded. Eragon held her gaze for a long moment, letting her see the hurt in his eyes. It was a bold and brazen move, something he was already chastising himself for. But even so, he reasoned, what else could she do to him now? She had rejected him twice, and now she opened up to his cousin.

_Stop it, Eragon, _he heard Saphira sigh through their mental link. His first thought was to shut her off, but her next words made him stop. _Don't you remember anything? Your cousin is already in love –engaged, even._

_That means nothing, _Eragon spat, although he knew he was being foolish. Saphira was right. Roran had loved Katrina for so long…

Arya, in the mean time, had stood and was slowly making her way through the throng of people, steadily progressing toward Eragon. Eragon didn't like the expression she wore; there was something suspiciously like irritation there, half-hidden in her eyes. As she drew beside him, she took the cup from his hands, putting it down. "Dance with me," she said, tone cold.

"No," Eragon murmured, although it took quite an expanse of his energy to turn her down. "I don't dance."

"You seemed to be dancing well enough with that dwarvan woman, and the human maid before her," she hissed in the ancient language.

Eragon looked away from her angry green eyes, catching sight of Saphira. She was watching their precarious show of blatant unease with one another, a small smile on her jowls.

"Eragon, dance with me. We need to talk," Arya alleged, a bit softer this time.

Eragon gave in to her, just like he had promised himself he wouldn't. Reluctantly he took her hand in his, feeling the usual jolt somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He led her onto the dance floor, pulling her close. The tune had become much softer; a lilting tune of lost love, no doubt. The flute and mandolin created the soft, sweet quality to the song, while the hammered Dulcimer added a sorrowful note. The song reminded him so much of Arya that it was painful.

"Roran was speaking to me of Katrina." Her arms went around his neck, the coarse woolen material of her tunic brushing his cheek. "He is upset and does not feel he can talk to you anymore. All love you; you have seen so many races… and you have known much that he has been ignorant to until a week ago. He feels inferior."

"But-" Eragon sputtered, eyes widening.

"Shhh," Arya whispered, lowering her voice and murmuring in the ancient language. "I could tell by the way he was always silent around you. Even when I was not around, he was uncomfortable. You must speak to him tonight, Eragon. Reassure him. I believe she is still alive... Yet I fear what she may have been put through."

This was probably one of the only times Arya had ever been open about her thoughts… was she simply opening up because he had been upset? "While you were imprisoned…" Eragon began before faltering. Hadn't she said that the men had tried raping her? Of course she hadn't allowed it, of course she had protected herself; but Katrina was nothing like Arya. "Do you think they have… forced themselves on Katrina?"

"It is possible… probable, in fact," she murmured. "I did not mention the fact to Roran, for I fear he would have broken under the inclination. It is a miracle she is still alive," Arya began somberly, "yet there are things much worse than death."

Eragon pulled Arya a bit tighter to him unintentionally, wanting to offer comfort, wanting to let her know that he was there. He felt her stiffen before slowly relaxing. "I'm glad I saved you." Arya's only response was a faint nod.

The remainder of the song, they danced in silence. As the final strains of the song ended, Arya pulled away gently. "Talk to him tonight, but do not stay up too late. We leave early tomorrow morning."

Eragon nodded, offering her a smile. "Arya… I'm sorry. For so much. For everything I've done, and everything that was done to you by my kind. I'm sorry."

Her wise eyes bore into his for a long moment before she said, "There is no need for you to apologize, Rider. We are friends." With that, she turned and marched out of the dining hall, into the dark tunnels.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Here I am attempting to, once again, save my own ass. If you all will remember, Solembum spoke these words: _Listen closely and I will tell you two things. When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls._ Yes, I do know that there is a special sword meant for Eragon… and yes, it will be in this story. :) See, I am not leaving plot holes!

Love love,

Eternity.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Late Night Sword Fights**

* * *

Eragon left the party much earlier than most, for he felt the need to search out Saphira's advice. The dragon had snuck out while he and Arya had danced, much to Eragon's dismay. He really was in need of help; how should he approach his cousin? How could he be firm yet sensitive?

He reached out to Saphira with his mind, trying to find her presence. _Saphira?_

His mental connection was slapped away by his sapphire companion with only one word of explanation. _Hunting._ So, she had slipped out to find food? For some reason, it didn't sit right with Eragon. Why had she not told him before disappearing? It was strange behavior for the dragon.

Eragon tried not to dwell on it, although he knew it would continue to bother him until she returned to his side. Walking down the dark, nearly abandoned tunnel ways was much too lonely for him, now that almost all of the Varden had left. He wandered down the familiar corridors, trying not to get the feeling that nothing but ghosts followed him in these tunnels.

He found a dark door to his left, paused, and knocked a bit too forcefully. There was silence for a long period of time before, finally, the door opened. Roran, shirtless, burly-eyes and bearded, stood before Eragon. He held a dark flask in his right hand, the door in his left. "I thought ye might be coming," Roran mumbled, his words slurring a bit. Eragon found himself looking at the bottle as if it were the culprit. Roran only laughed edgily, seeming to understand the glance. "It's not what it looks like. Arya gave it to me; a sleep draught, or so says she. Come in then."

Eragon had, in fact, noticed the dark circles under his cousin's eyes. It would do the man good to have some sleep, even if elven elixirs induced it unnaturally. "You and Arya seem to be getting along… well," Eragon murmured conversationally, taking a seat in the corner. How did he admit that Arya had told him Roran's feelings? Would that not be considered breaking one's trust?

Roran sighed, sitting on his bed and looking down at the floor. "I'm not lusting after her, Eragon, so if that's why you're here… I love Katrina. You know that."

Eragon felt a twinge of regret for his initial mistrust of his cousin. Of course he was not lusting after Arya. Eragon offered Roran a soft smile, murmuring, "I know you, Roran, and I know your loyalties are only for Katrina. I came not to condemn you for befriending Arya –only to congratulate you. She lets very few into her circle of companions."

Roran was silent for a time, as if pondering over the words. "Why have you come?" he finally asked.

Eragon sighed, standing. "Roran… you are still my brother. No matter how my appearances have changed, no matter how devoted I am to Saphira, no matter how many races I meet or people I kill. You are my brother, and I honor and appreciate that… and I shall never forget it." Eragon stood and went to the door, pausing. "Think on that."

With those final words, Eragon left to catch up on some well-deserved sleep.

…

The next day's traveling was not as hard as Eragon had expected. Arya was still as silent as before, riding at the front of the group with her keen eyes always scouting. Orik was much more cheerful, although he did have moments of silence and moodiness. A new King had been named and Orik well agreed with the council's choice. And as for Roran… Roran would speak more frequently with Eragon now. Although he only commented on small things, such as the cloud shapes or the horses, or even Saphira, Eragon was heartened by the change.

As the day's light began to fade, Arya pulled her horse to a halt. She turned to look at Eragon, murmuring, "We shall stop here."

Eragon wanted to point out that there was at least another half hour of light, but he realized that arguing with Arya was not the best strategy. Instead the mentally called out to Saphira, who had been circling some ways ahead of them, telling her of their location.

Orik was already getting the fire started, always one to quickly prepare a meal. Arya wandered off into the forest, as usual, and left Eragon and Roran to taking the tack off of the horses and brushing them down. Eragon didn't mind, of course, for it gave him more time to speak with his cousin whose openness prompted Eragon into murmuring, "We will find Katrina, Roran. And we will kill the Ra'zac."

Roran only nodded mutely, although he looked relieved at the words. They spent their time together mostly in silence, although it was comfortable. At dinner, they sat at the fire with Orik and ate while the dwarf sang in a deep, rumbling bass. Saphira joined in with her deep growl-like crooning, her neck arched gracefully into the air.

Arya had still not returned.

She did appear, though, while Eragon and Roran were rolling out their sleeping pallets close to the fire. She had her thin blade drawn, a small cut on her cheek and her eyes flashing like emerald fire. Before Eragon could question as to where she had been, she spoke. "Eragon, get your unnamed blade…and you, Roran, your hammer. We will spar now, for there is much for the both of you to learn. Roran, Orik waits for you in the clearing across the road. Maybe he can hone those barbaric swings of yours. Eragon… I will be waiting."

With that, her crisp words done, she turned and began walking into the forest. Her silhouette faded into the dark trees, her shadow disappearing once the ring of firelight disappeared.

"Barbaric?" Roran repeated incredulously. "I shall certainly crush the dwarf, no matter how _barbaric _my swings are."

Eragon chuckled, dulling the edge of his blade before reducing the attack weight of Roran's hammer. "Roran, Orik is much stronger than he appears."

"Strong or not, he is still a little man," Roran grinned, loping off toward the other side of the road. Eragon only shook his head. _Empathy and humility come with time_, he reminded himself. _The first time I fought Arya, I thought I should lessen my blows because of her sex. And she still beat me horribly, no matter that she was female,_ he thought with a wry smile.

Saphira glanced over at him, her massive eye lowering to him. _You have grown much, Eragon. I'm not sure if even Arya could beat you now, if she were not an elf. Go train and hope that you don't anger her, _the dragon teased, nudging him along with her nose.

Eragon slipped into the woods, reaching out for Arya's aura with his mind. He found her, quite a ways off, standing perfectly still it seemed. He continued on through the thick moss on the ground and ducking under millions of low-hanging limbs. He had traveled nearly a quarter of a mile when he felt her presence right beside him. He turned around in the small clearing, barely large enough for two horses to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, but could not see her.

His confusion mounted until he slipped on something slightly thick and sticky. He bent down, pressing his fingers to it, raising them. In the dark, he could not see what it was, but the scent told him what his eyes could not.

Blood.

Alarm rose in his mind, so much so that he didn't notice when the trees above him shifted. He heard a loud cry, a rustling of tree limbs, and turned much too late. A large shape was descending upon him.

The cool metal of a blade rested against the back of his neck, heavy enough to tell him he had nearly been killed, sharp enough to tell him he wouldn't have even felt the incision being made. The thick smell of spiced pine needles filled his nose as long strands of black hair fell onto his shoulder.

"Arya?"

Arya pulled away, picking her blade off of his neck. "You knew I was here. Why did you not have your senses more alert?"

"The blood-"

"The blood was a decoy," she answered coolly. "I could have killed you fifteen different ways and you would have never noticed."

"No Ra'zac will climb trees to get at me," Eragon muttered, slightly childishly, as he pulled himself to his feet.

"No, probably not," she admitted, "but Murtagh might."

That simply statement made Eragon's blood run cold. "But-"

"Your alliance with one another is over, Eragon," she answered crisply. "You know this although you may not want to admit it. He is more trained then you in the deadliest of magic –that, I cannot help you with. I do not know the training to be a rider, but I know how to fight. That much I can teach you. The magic you must turn to Trianna, though I hate to admit it, and her books. Though she might not be as powerful as you, I am sure she has some wonderfully dark spells you can read up on."

Eragon wasn't sure if he liked the fact that Arya was so keen on training him. Had he been sparring with Brom, or Murtagh, or even Oromis, he could have given his all, falling into the routines and even enjoying them. But against Arya… she always seemed as if she was upset, both with him and his abilities. How could he help but be intimidated by her?

Arya rose her blade, murmuring, "Stop thinking, Eragon. Sword fighting is not about thinking so deeply, it is about predicting the opponent's moves and being able to improvise. Now come at me."

Eragon raised the blade held firmly in his grasp, relaxing his grip only slightly. He swore to himself, standing there before the woman his mind would never let go of, he would not falter.

With that, he charged.

She had predicted the simple rush, of course, and lazily swung her blade up. Though now, Eragon noted, he was able to follow the blade unlike the first time he had fought her. He was nearly matching her in speed. He spun away, using the momentum of her blade to put some distance between them. They circled, Arya crouched low, all of her weight focused on her back leg.

Eragon lunged again, only to pull back at the last moment, leaving Arya swiping at thin air. He instead swiped at her unprotected flank, but Arya was much too fast for that. She rolled, casting herself into the dirt and using her shoulder to move herself across the leave-scattered ground. She was up again and by then Eragon was already crossing the small distance between them, bringing his blade down on her.

She parried easily, the blades making a loud clang and sending sparks flying. Arya's eyes, Eragon could now see, were burning with the excitement of the fight. She shoved him back, making him stumble, and muttered, "Good. But against Murtagh, you might have to fight unfairly." And before Eragon could process the words, Arya fell to her side, scooping up a pile of leaves and throwing them at Eragon.

Eragon was so busy trying the block his eyes from the leaves that he didn't see Arya roll toward him, kicking his legs out from beneath him. He fell most ungracefully and, by the time his eyes were working well enough to see what was happening, Arya's blade was at his throat. "You're dead," she stated plainly. She stepped back, offering him her hand. "I think that is all for tonight."

Eragon took her hand, standing. He gasped for breath, watching as she turned her back and began to walk toward the trees. But something inside Eragon screamed for him to stop her, stop her with any means necessary. This was the closest he had been to her since their dance and this was the most he had probably ever gotten out of her.

So instead of sheathing his blade, he flung himself at her unsuspecting back, sword swinging.

Arya turned at the waist, throwing her sword up to block him, a wry smile on her full lips. "For some reason, I thought you wouldn't be accustomed to fighting unfairly," she murmured, her muscles straining under the exertion she was putting on her blade. "But I see that you're as sly as Murtagh. Maybe there's hope yet." Arya turned and they faced one another, opponents yet allies.

And the fight went on.

* * *

Author's Note:

The next chapter is the conquering of the Ra'zac and the finding of Katrina… but will she be alive? Dead? Raped and mutilated? We shall see…

Leave me some feedback!

Love love,

Eternity


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Death and all His Friends**

* * *

Saphira had not spoken with Eragon much, her thoughts a gentle question mark to Eragon's mind. When she did speak, her words were laced with something not quite sorrow, but much too poignant for Eragon's comfort.

Saphira spent most of her time circling above their heads. Her absence beside him made Eragon feel slightly put out, and the others seemed to be catching on. The next night at dinner, Arya softly spoke. "Saphira no longer eats with us."

It was a statement, not a question but Eragon answered anyway. "No, she does not. I worry about her. I've asked many times what is wrong, but after the burial of Horthgar she speaks little."

"Surely she is not still pining over the funeral?" Roran spoke up, words gentle.

Orik looked slightly upset at having been reminded of his once Great King. "Saphira should not still be in mourning –nay, I suspect some other culprit of stealing her thoughts."

"You should speak with her," Roran added.

Eragon looked over at Arya for her input, but she was silently adding branches to the fire and would not be engaged. Orik, though, nodded his agreement. Eragon stood and left the company and warmth by the fire without another word.

He calmly traced his way into a small outcropping of tiny knolls, feeling Saphira's presence ahead of him like a missing part of himself. It had been lonely without her being there beside him, without their mental conversations… something had to be terribly wrong for her to have cut him off so decidedly.

He found her at the other side of the knolls, standing still and tall, her neck craned upward so she could watch the stars. Eragon moved close to her flank, knowing she had sensed him before he had even come up beside her.

_Are you all right?_ He asked finally, voice soft. _The others are worried… I'm worried, too._

_The stars look prettier in Ellesmera, _she commented calmly, though sadness laced through her words. _But I think that now I would never have the strength to go back._

At first her words confused Eragon, and then they alarmed him. _What do you mean? Saphira, you aren't making any sense…_

Saphira lowered her massive head to look at him, infinitely patient. _They have passed on, Eragon. I can feel his absence, and if he is gone… so is Oromis. It's Glaedr, Eragon. Glaedr and Oromis. We are the only Varden Rider and Dragon left._

Her words were swimming with sadness to the point that, at first, Eragon didn't understand what she was saying. But then it sunk in. Oromis and Glaedr were… gone. Eragon felt his throat seal up, as if a fist was squeezing him, not allowing him to breathe.

So many deaths… and so many allies who he had seen take their final breaths –and now Oromis and Glaedr? He looked up at Saphira, finally speaking. _We knew the time was soon when they would pass. Oromis… Oromis warned us._

Saphira's consent to his words was unsaid but not unheard. She lowered herself to the ground, curling a wing around Eragon, sheltering and comforting. They lay like that for a time, silently watching as the stars died.

…

A week of hard riding had placed them at the Jiet River, leaving Surda and Varden territory behind yet again. Orik was much more jubilant, claiming Helgrind was but two days away at most.

Eragon had become used to sparring long into the night with Arya, hardly ever willing to put his sword down. More than once he had dropped out of exhaustion, muscles giving painful spasms but leaving him laughing and panting. Arya was one of the best fighters, even within the Elven race, and he had the opportunity to spar with her every night.

He was beginning to notice small changes, too. Little things that normally wouldn't make much of a difference –but they did with Eragon. He no longer put so much effort into swinging his sword, wasting useful energy. Instead he had become more agile on his feet and faster in parries and defensive maneuvers.

He had also been able to mark Arya twice with his blade; it was a feat for a novice such as Eragon.

Roran was also improving, as Orik said that night. Their stew was filled with rabbit meat, which Orik seemed to have overlooked. While the dwarf and Roran tore into the food with gusto, Arya and Eragon ate the remainder of the bread and some berries.

After dinner, Eragon grabbed Barzul, ready to spar, but Arya put an arm on his shoulder. "Rest tonight, Eragon," she murmured in the ancient language, her lovely eyes seeming a touch darker than usual.

"Why? What is it?" he asked, worried despite the rational side of him that claimed Arya was fine and hiding nothing from him.

"I believe we will reach Helgrind tomorrow. I will not stand for you being too tired or sore. Orik has already agreed to let Roran out of the nightly practice."

Saphira snorted from where she laid beside Eragon's pallet. One large eye glanced at Arya, asking, _Do you really think the Ra'zac will be too much for us?_

Arya sighed. "You know as well as I, dragon, that if you underestimate your opponents then it leads to terrible repercussions. I am simply being cautious."

Saphira grumbled something about being a smidgen too cautious and Arya shrugged. "It matters not. I will not spar tonight. Try to get as much sleep as possible." And, subtly, her hand slipped across Eragon's as she turned to leave.

Eragon was left standing in the middle of their campsite, cold shivers raising gooseflesh on his arms, wondering if the touch was something completely accidental or…

Saphira snorted again, a small flame shooting from her nostrils. _Stop obsessing and come to bed,_ she murmured.

Eragon complied.

…

Helgrind was a massive fortress in the midst of absolutely nothing. Parched ground, devoid of any life whatsoever stretched as far as Eragon could see. Saphira let out a tiny growl deep in her throat, making Roran start. He seemed much more jumpy then Eragon thought him to be.

"Are you all right, Roran?" Eragon asked evenly, feeling Barzul humming within its sheath. The sword had never done that before… but then again, he had never fought a real battle with the sword, either. Maybe it could sense the blood about to be spilled.

"I'm fine," Roran answered, though his voice was very low. He had him hammer out already when he asked, "We need a plan…"

Arya nodded slightly. "We mainly need stealth. Eragon and I are both light on our feet and have some magic–we should go in first. The Ra'zac and Lethrblaka might be anywhere; if I were to guess, though…" he voice trailed off and she pointed to the peak at the top of the massive tower.

Saphira made a rather rude sound in the back of the throat, making Arya sigh.

"Saphira, you must stay out of sight," she repeated. "You are not exactly stealthy. Stay with the horses here, but remain alert. We will need your help against the Lethrblaka once we lure them into the air. Eragon," she continued, leaving everyone else to try and keep up with her train of thought, "Will you be willing to let Katrina have your horse? If she is strong enough to ride, I'd rather her have her own horse. Saphira would be a more then suitable steed for you."

Eragon nodded. "I am fine with riding Saphira."

Arya nodded, eyes firmly planted on the fortress. "Then we go. We need to keep surprise on our side as much as possible. Orik, try not to make too much noise." Orik glared at her. "And Roran, I know you are fond of yelling when you lunge, but please refrain. It may save all of our lives. Are we ready?"

Eragon and Roran dismounted and Arya murmured, "We'll have to sneak around from the side. Everything must go smoothly." When no one spoke up to override her words, she nodded grimly, trying her hair back away from her face. "Let us go."

…

Their stench was enough to make Eragon wish he had not been sworn to silence. The two Ra'zac had been easy to find, as they were in the main room that the lower floor of Helgrind opened into.

"Ready?" Arya breathed in Eragon's ear. Eragon nodded, prodding Roran. Silently they crept around the side, coming up behind them.

Unfortunately for Eragon and Roran, the Ra'zac noticed them immediately and began to wail. The sound was so piercing that Roran fell back, crying out, covering his ears. Eragon shoved Barzul into one of the Ra'zac, the putrid flesh tearing as the unnamed blade forced its way through the body.

Orik had rushed in to the rescue, wincing slightly at the screeching by not seeming to overly subdued. His hammer found the second Ra'zac's knees, swiping the creature off of its feet. Orik smashed his hammer heavily into the Ra'zac's face, blood spilling all over the black floors. The drawf continued to beat the mess of gore which was once a face.

"Orik," Eragon whispered harshly, catching the little man's attention. The dwarf looked up, and angry twist to his fast. "Aye, aye, I'm coming."

They came to what appeared to be a stairwell, blocked off by what appeared to be a glass door. Upon inspection, the glass was completely impenetrable and covered in a complex hive of twists and knobs, none of which Arya used. Instead she bent down, hooking her fingers under the door, between earth and wood, and heaved it upward. The door rolled up, leaving the tunnel-like access open.

They filed inside, hugging the walls that were dank and smelled of mold. Eragon, unable to help himself, asked, _How did you know how to do that with the door?_

Arya answered promptly as she shimmed across the wall, _It was an idea they must have stolen from the pirates –they use the same trick doors._

He would have asked how she'd known that, but decided against it. Maybe when they were safely back at Surda and had Katrina he would, but right now…

Now they had larger issues.

…

"Where do you think the Lethrblaka made it off to?" Roran asked, an hour later, as they searched yet another floor of cells. Most of them were empty, more still with half-dead humans, much too far gone to be rescued.

" I can only guess. We need to go below ground," Eragon added suddenly. He looked up. "She was in a dungeon, not a cell. When I scryed Katrina, she wasn't in a cell. She was in a…"

Arya nodded slowly, her sword gleaming in the faint light from a nearby slotted window. "Below ground…"

They quietly retraced their steps, finding a spiral staircase cut into the very stones of the fortress. A horrid stench, like wet, decaying animals, rose from the depths. Orik groused. "I believe we've found ourselves the Lethrblaka. Of course they'd be guarding their main prisoner."

Eragon and Arya, without even speaking, began to descend the steps together. As they walked, however, Eragon felt a sense of horror rising within him. There was a stink in the air, in the very molecules they were breathing…

Blood.

Murder.

Arya seemed to have thought the same thing, for simultaneously their steps quickened, still soundless and light, but nonetheless faster. There were sounds coming from the lower level, sounds that were neither human nor animal but nonetheless threatening.

Arya and Eragon hit the final stair at a run, only to find one of their Lethrblaka circling around a thin, waif-like body on the damp stones.

Eragon didn't even spare a glance at any of his companions, didn't even wait for Arya to tell him her thoughts. He rushed at the Lethrblaka, Arya beside him. They were completely silent as they pounced, thrusting their swords into the Lethrblaka.

The massive creature screamed in its reptilian tongue and everything was suddenly a blur of motion and sound. Eragon had to continuously turn and dive, duck and roll between its attacks and thrashes. He heard Roran give a bloody war cry as he thrust himself into the frey. Orik, as well, was beside him, doing a fair share of the damage.

It was over almost as soon as it had started. Eragon fell, exhausted and bleeding, onto his knees beside the slain Lethrblaka, breathing heavily and clutching his left arm. A deep gash ran along the appendage, making him wince. "_Waíse heill_," he whispered, feeling his deep cut mending itself with his magic.

_Little one, the other Lethrblaka found me. I have disposed of it for you, _Saphira added, her tone sounding smug.

_Congratulations, _Eragon chuckled to himself. _How does Lethrblaka blood taste?_

_Atrocious. Thankfully we won't have to worry about these nasty creatures anymore. How is Katrina?_

He then remembered Roran and Katrina and stood, lurching slightly. Roran held the thin body that Eragon had noticed earlier, tears streaming down his face. Orik and Arya stood around him, Arya suffering quite a few scratches and Orik covered in blood –mostly Lethrblaka blood.

"Roran?" he asked softly, stepping forward. Dread filled him. Was she… was she dead?

And then the thin body lifted its head and squinted up at him, the dirty face whispering, "Oh, Roran… is that little Eragon? How he… how he's grown…" And then her head rolled back onto Roran's chest, eyes fluttering closed.

"Katrina!" He called, eyes wide in worry.

Arya smiled, placing a hand on Roran's shoulder. "She sleeps. Come, and hurry. We must ride back to Surda and have the Varden look after her. Only rest and food will help her now."

Roran nodded, his eyes still exuding moisture. He picked her up, easily, in his arms and carried her up the stairs, Eragon and Orik in front, Arya behind.

_We saved Katrina… now for the rest of Alagaesia._

Mentally, he could feel Arya's weariness. Yet under it, a small sense of pride. _Yes. Now for the rest of Alagaesia._

* * *

Author's Note:

To all of my reviewers: I love you all. You're so wonderful for all of the comments. 51 reviews for 4 chapters! Wow, that's wonderful. Thank you all! You are what keep me from giving up on this story completely!

Love love,

Eternity


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A Second Rider**

* * *

The wind whistled through the hard packed, dry mounds of earth like a forgotten melody of the trees. Katrina dozed in Roran's arms, her wounds finally healed and breath finally slowed.

Arya stood with her back to the camp and warm firelight, gazing out over the dunes of solid earth. Saphira eyed her for a moment before turning her sapphire gaze onto Eragon, sitting close to Orik at the fire.

_Something troubles her, _Saphira hummed gently to Eragon.

Eragon allowed his gaze to wander over to the lone elf, stranding tall and proud and utterly alone. _She is thinking and does not wish for me to pry is all, _Eragon sighed. _You know how she is. She snaps at me and treats me like a child every time I approach her._

Saphira snorted, a lick of smoke curling from her snout. _You _are_ a child to her. And perhaps if you stopped confessing your undying devotion to her and making her uncomfortable, she might stop snapping so much._

Eragon scowled, although the truth in her words was undeniable. Sighing, he stood and began toward the lithe creature standing off on her own.

Arya did not even spare him a glance when he came to stand beside her. She only murmured gently, "I knew things have been much too quiet."

"What do you mean?" Eragon inquired, instantly wary.

Her eyes finally did meet his and what he saw there worried him. Usually, there was a look of impatience, a look of concentration. Now there was a careful blank, a forceful question mark. She was hiding something from him.

Was this strong creature before him actually worried enough to hide her thoughts from him? Eragon reached out with his mind, feeling hers blocked by a steel barricade of her custom make. Was that it, then? Was she afraid?

"I found tracks," she began delicately, her tone suddenly careful –much softer then he had ever heard it.

Eragon felt his stomach churn. "Tracks?"

"Dragon," she whispered, voice barely loud enough for him to hear it. Even then, it took him a while to process the information. She closed her eyes, sighed, and turned her attention back to a large, rocky outcropping a few miles to the east.

"Thorn and Murtagh?" Eragon exclaimed, eyes widening.

Arya shook her head. "No. The tracks are much too small."

Eragon was silent for a long moment before cursing. "That means-"

_It means, _a slightly anxious Saphira growled, _that another egg has hatched for that damnable kind…_

Arya nodded slightly. "The Varden… has no hope against three dragons."

There was a long, sickening silence before Eragon cleared his throat painfully, all three of their minds. "What will we do?"

Arya moved closer, her face mere centimeters from his ear. Eragon felt his cheeks burn but forgot the tension when she spoke in the ancient language. "We will follow the tracks and kill the Rider and Dragon. Tonight."

…

It was well after midnight when Eragon felt Arya touch his shoulder to rouse him. _Come_, her mind prompted him. _Saphira, are you awake?_ She added.

Silent and nimble, Saphira rose to her feet, intelligent eyes glittering with something very close to anticipation.

_We will kill our own kin tonight, Saphira, _Eragon muttered, feeling his heart lodged somewhere in his intestines. It saddened him, knowing that this new boy and dragon would be just like him… a casualty of war, killed only because they were on the wrong side…

_Yes, _she agreed, flexing her powerful wings experimentally. _But we shall be one step closer to the Empire._

Eragon decided to take it as it was and simply nodded.

_Come, _Arya called again, more insistently this time, her mental voice seeming far off. She was already slipping graceful and cat-like from the top of a mound, sprinting toward the rocky outcropping, so close yet so far. Eragon tried to slide as elegantly over the parched ground, but found himself stumbling through the dark over clods of dirt and rock.

He didn't dare speak aloud during the hour of sprinting. He found his new body most adapt to the hardships of long runs, feeling his muscles evening out the pain and making it somewhat bearable.

The mountain ahead of them advancing ever nearer, small yet domineering in its own strange way. It seemed to loom above them, imposing and deadly, grinning with sharp obsidian teeth.

Arya slowed near the foot of the great base, peering up through the dark with her keen elven eyes. "There is a cavern there. Saphira would have to fly us onto the outcropping, but it is much too small for her to roost. She would have to wait for us below."

Eragon needn't hear anything else. He climbed up Saphira's scaly foreleg and onto her back, carefully avoiding the spines at the base of the neck. He turned, offering his hand to Arya and realizing, a bit too late, that it might not go over well with the independent elf.

Indeed, it did not. She glanced stonily at his hand before hoisting herself onto Saphira's back, nimble and graceful as a cat. She settled behind Eragon, and he specifically noted the insides of her thighs pressing against his legs. The young dragon Rider tried to clear his mind, opening his eyes only when Saphira's sizable girth lifted by the pounding of her wings at work.

The flight only took, at most, five seconds. Saphira's massive wings made a soft 'wompf' as she kept altitude level with the cavern opening. Eragon and Arya slid off of her back and onto the small ledge just outside of the dark cave.

_Call me when they have been taken care of, _Saphira commented blandly before beginning her slow descent.

Arya pulled out her slim blade, holding it securely in her right hand. Eragon followed suit. _The tunnel is too narrow for us to go in side by side. Go behind me. I cannot risk losing our only rider –and please follow my lead. _

Eragon could have easily told her that he had followed her lead since finding Saphira –unbeknownst to either of them, of course. Yet she had always been there to help, her presence seeming to lead him toward his future, even before he had met her. She was always there, always the driving force behind why he trained so hard and why he tried to please her.

And so far, he had proven insignificant.

He was jerked back into reality when a low, throaty growl seemed to permeate from the very depths of the darkness, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Barzul hummed softly in his hand, glinting in the darkness like quicksilver.

And then, in a horrible contrast, was a trembling voice.

"Wh-who are you? Why are you he-here?"

Arya tensed before putting her blade back within her sheath. _Eragon… I believe we have miscalculated severely._

_What do you mean? _He asked slowly, keeping the comfortable weight of Barzul in his hand. He tried to peer around the elf, but found himself unable to. She seemed to be doing all that was humanly possible to keep the inhabitants of the cave from noticing him –and the other way around.

Arya shook her head, her dark hair brushing his arm. _It's a child, Eragon. It's a dirty child and a tiny dragon… the dragon hatched for a child._

_What?!_

"It's alright," Arya spoke aloud, breaking away from Eragon and leaving him alone in the darkness. He heard soft noises, little rustlings, and then another growl. "We aren't here to hurt you, but you must tell me, child… why are you here and how did you get the dragon?"

"I… I…" the child's voice sounded panicky, somewhat hysterical. The dragon growled again.

"We will not hurt you," Arya repeated gently. "Come with us. We will take you and your dragon with us. Eragon here, the boy with me… he has a dragon of his own."

"_No_!" the child suddenly screeched. There was instant pandemonium in which something large and heavy, a bit larger then Eragon himself, landed on his chest, pushing him to the floor. The child was still yelling, only Arya's voice has risen as well, trying to be heard.

"-_not from the Empire_!" Arya's voice rose above the other noises.

Everything stilled. The weight atop of Eragon shifted slightly but did not lift. The child was gulping for air but silent, waiting.

Arya continued, voice soft again. "We are members of the Varden. We are fighting _against_ Galbatorix…"

The child was silent for a long spell before a soft, "The _Varden_?"

"Yes… now will you tell me where you got your dragon?"

"Can we…" a pause. "Can we see the dragon first?"

The weight atop of Eragon lifted off completely and he stood, putting Barzul away. The child and dragon were wild cards, yes, but he didn't think they would harm either Arya or himself.

"Eragon?" Arya called. "Will you call Saphira to come to the ledge?"

Eragon nodded, stumbling his way back into the faint light of oncoming morning. _Saphira… there's been a…_development

_What sort? _He heard her wings spreading below him and then the sound of hoisting herself into the air effortlessly. She was soon hovering beside him, looking curious. _Are they dead?_

_Not quite,_ Eragon muttered, feeling Arya coming up behind him. He turned, eyes adjusting to peer through the faint murk. A waif of a child trailed Arya and Eragon could now see it was a girl child. She wore a dirty cowl and pants, that of a simple whipping child. The dragon beside her had cold, chiseled features, his intelligent eyes glittering a rich emerald, the same color of its scales.

Saphira snorted at the sight of them, eyes becoming slits. _What is happening, Eragon?_

_They are not of the Empire. The girl's scared out of her mind and thought we were Galbatorix's men_.

The other dragon had gone very still at the sight of Saphira's large body fluttering there effortlessly in the air. Saphira turned her eyes on the dragon. _Can you fly?_

Eragon could not sense its reply, but Saphira seemed to be pleased. _Good. Then carry your Rider and follow us. We will lead you to our camp and then I will take you hunting. _To Eragon, she grunted, _An interesting find, little one._

Eragon nodded slightly, climbing onto Saphira. Arya slid behind him, watching the girl carefully climb onto the smaller dragon's back. The dragon was just slightly taller than a pony, but tiny compared to Saphira. He would grow quickly, though, Eragon realized, smiling slightly at the thought.

_Maybe we have found you your mate, Saphira, _Eragon murmured, smiling as he stroked her blue scales.

She snorted again. _Quiet or I will throw you off._ She darted away toward the west, slower than normal, waiting for the smaller dragon to catch up.

…

Back at the camp, once the girl child was asleep and Saphira and the other dragon were away, Eragon spoke softly. "What will we do with her? She's untrained and a child. Oromis is… gone. He cannot train her."

Arya was silent, glancing into the small flames that remained of their camp fire. "We will train her, of course," she finally answered. "I can help with swordsmanship but only you can teach her how to be a true Rider."

Eragon sighed, running a hand over his face and into his hair, groaning. "I just don't… I don't think I can train her. Oromis and Brom had an infuriating sense of stubbornness and I…"

"You possess the same stubbornness," Arya commented wryly. She tossed him a small, ironic smile that made his heart flutter. "Every Rider does, or so I have heard. Get some rest, Eragon. You will need it for the trip tomorrow."

"I cannot rest, not after tonight's events," Eragon murmured, but settled himself onto his pallet anyway. But then he found himself falling into a rather trance-like state despite his arguments otherwise.

Arya smiled softly to herself and shook her head. "That boy will not give up…" and then, with a sad frown, she whispered, "And I am finding it harder to deny him. But I will. All of Alagaesia depends on it."

…

The next morning Eragon awoke late –so late, in fact, everyone else was up and already knew the story of the waif child. Katrina, now full of life and seeming to have not suffered anything too terrible while with the Ra'zac, helped the girl clean up and Arya gave her a tunic that acted more as a dress for the tiny girl.

"How old are you, child?" Orik asked, glancing over at the emerald dragon, sitting protectively close to the girl. It seemed a bit distracted, though, and Eragon had a feeling it was speaking with Saphira.

"Fourteen," she murmured, voice steady. After a night of sleep and the kindness of two older women, she seemed to have warmed up to them all. Her tanned skin was accented with dark freckles and a shock of bright blonde hair spilling around slightly malnourished features. "My name's Abbila and this…" she murmured, reaching out to stroke the jaw of her companion, "this is…" but she suddenly stopped, nodding as if answering an unvoiced request.

_My name, _the dragon's voice began, much deeper and cultured than Eragon had expected, _is Briam._

* * *

Author's Note: Wow, a lot happened in this chapter! I hope you all liked it. Leave me some love.

Love love,

Eternity


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**With a Little Help From Friends**

* * *

The traveling was hard the next day, but made bearable due to the fact that Arya asked Eragon to ride with Saphira.

"The girl seems still unsteady on her mount," she alleged softly, glancing over at Briam and Abbila. "I fear she has not ridden him much."

Eragon remembered his own days of first flying and winced at the phantom pain that shot up his thighs. The scales of Saphira's back had chafed the insides of his thighs so horribly that they had left terrible scars. Only after the blessing of the Dragon in Ellesmera was his skin left flawless and without the pitted flesh. "I will be back," he told Arya, who was settling the packs onto Eragon's steed. She barely even glanced at him as she continued to tie down the bundles.

Eragon walked over to the girl, noticing now how peculiarly she was sitting by the fire. She looked slightly uncomfortable but masked it easily when Eragon came to sit beside her. "Are you hurt?" he asked simply.

She seemed to stiffen. "I… no, sir, nothing. I mean, I'm quite alright, really…"

Eragon smiled slightly. "His scales rubbed your legs raw, didn't they?" She looked at him in shock and he chuckled. "Abbila, I was a novice at one point, too. Not so long ago, in fact. Technically, I'm still a babe at the talent of being a Rider. The same happened to me in recent times."

She seemed a bit more comforted at his words and allowed a guilty blush to cross her face. She hid it from view, whispering, "I apologize for not telling you. It seems foolish to me now."

"Don't worry," Eragon replied as he stood. "I'll have Arya heal you while I make a saddle for Briam." He slipped away from the fire and returned to Arya. "She is chaffed at her thighs, just as I had suspected. Would you be willing to heal her while I make Briam a temporary saddle? I don't believe it is my place to…" his voice trailed off and he simply shrugged, feeling a slight hint of heat gathering at his cheeks.

Arya raised an eyebrow, turning her large green eyes on him. "I seem to recall you healing just about every wound on my body when we first met… Why is she so different?"

Eragon's cheeks burned now, and he sputtered softly, "You were nearly dead, Arya, and we had no women traveling with us! What was I supposed to do?"

He was shocked to see her smirking at him, something remarkable to Eragon's eyes. "Go make the saddle, Rider. I will tend to the young one."

"Thank you, Arya Svit-kona," Eragon said with a slight bow before turning away quickly. There was hardly any leather in the camp to make a formal saddle in the way Brom had done for Eragon, and so he decided to improvise.

He called mentally for Saphira to bring Briam to him. The young dragon had hardly left Saphira's side, being a living shadow with an attitude, so Saphira reported exasperatedly. Although she had a front of irritation, Eragon knew that she was secretly proud to finally have a companion and another dragon on her side. After seeing Thorn, Eragon had felt all of Saphira's being cry out in anguish.

Saphira and Briam approached, the young dragon looking slightly miffed. _Saphira tells me you need to see me?_

"Yes," Eragon spoke aloud. He did not think it his place to speak with this dragon on an intimate level and within his mind. "I need to fit you for a saddle. Come... but first call Abbila and see if she is healed." Briam was silent for a spell before murmuring, _She comes presently. _His voice had lost its irritation, now slightly interested. _You know how to make saddles, then, Rider Eragon?_

"Of course," Eragon answered with a small smile. "And soon, so will your rider. Now come forward."

Briam gracefully sauntered to stand before Eragon right as Abbila rushed from the campsite. She was slightly red at the face, looking uncomfortable. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes. I am making a saddle for Briam, but you must watch me closely and learn how to do it yourself. Someday you might be without my assistance and in need of this skill." Eragon, without any ado, measured the dragon's neck and chest just as Brom had done so long ago. He then took his pallet off of the packhorse, glad to see that with it and his wool coverings, there would be enough material.

Eragon withdrew a hunting knife from his pack before lowering himself to the ground, carefully cutting out an outline of the saddle. He quickly and efficiently fitted the saddle together using strips of his pallet. The wool made a soft cushion for the buttocks and inside of the thighs. "It will hardly be perfect," he spoke as he placed it onto Braim's back and tightened the straps. "But the chafing will not be as bad."

"Thank you," Abbila said, eyes wide with something very close to admiration.

Briam snorted slightly before adding, _Yes, thank you._

"It's my job as your tutor," he said with a slight shrug and a smile. "Today we do not walk with the others –we ride."

…

It felt wonderful to be back in the air, feeling the wind whipping against his face. A soft drizzling rain had begun to fall, wetting his face and slicking his hair back away from his eyes. _I fear that Briam may not be a strong flier, little one, _Saphira confided, turning her neck for the second time to glance back at the emerald dragon streaking behind them.

_He's young, Saphira, _Eragon chided gently, _do not expect so much out of him. Besides, he has not yet faced your training. By the time you are through with him, he might as well be living in the air and battlefield. _

Saphira snorted, but Eragon could sense her pleasure at the compliment. _Come along, then, Briam! _She called out. Eragon could hear the other dragon's reply, something surprisingly snarky, and the dragon's wings began to beat more ferociously.

Soon the two dragons were side by side, the smaller of the two, Briam, looking slightly strained. Saphira, out of pity, slowed, though only slightly. The only way to make him stronger was to push his limits… or, at least, that is what Glaedr had done with her.

Eragon reached out with his mind, easily touching Abbila's. He would have to teach her to block her mind first and foremost. If Galbatorix were truly on the lookout for her, she would need the knowledge. _Abbila, how are you holding?_

She looked startled, eyes wide, and she glanced over at Eragon. _…Fine…_ she replied hesitantly.

_That's good, _Eragon replied, smiling slightly. _Do not fear me, Abbila, I will not enter your mind against your will… but there are some people who will. Galbatorix will be looking for you and he will use any method possible to find you. Will you allow me to teach you how to block your mind?_

_Yes, _she replied, voice eager.

_Good. Listen closely, _Eragon murmured, voice lowering. _If someone is trying to enter your mind, you will notice –maybe not immediately, but you will notice. Especially if they are trying to find your memories. It will be like a hand delving into your head, searching for something. What you need to do is picture a door._

_What kind of door? _She asked, voice keenly interested. In the back of his mind, Eragon heard Saphira through his connection, telling Briam about the different forms of flying depending on the weather patterns.

_Any kind. It's your own personal protection from the outside world. Once you think of that door, focus on it. Make every single detail fixed in your memory. Then begin to barricade it, covering it with locks and bolts and chains –any sort of devices. Eventually, with enough practice, you will be able to summon the door at will and without concentrating. _

_Has this ever helped you? _She asked softly. She sounded immersed in thought.

_Aye. Many times. Especially against… against Galbatorix's Rider._ Eragon paused, feeling the common lump in his throat begin to take hold of him again. His own brother… his own brother turned against him. Maybe not at will, but still…

_…You mean Murtagh_.

Eragon started. _What did you say? How do you know-_ but he found her mind inaccessible to him, blocked from him by a steel door.

…

They landed early in the day in order to allow the others to catch up to them. For the remainder of the flight, Eragon had worried over her statement. She knew Murtagh. She knew Galbatorix, or at least was close enough to him in order to spirit away a dragon egg…

What was going on?

"Abbila-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she interrupted, her pale eyes meeting his. "I would rather speak when everyone is here… it will save me much trouble. Will you teach me magic?"

Eragon was forced to comply. He found a small stone and tossed it to her. "Concentrate on that stone, and then try to lift it."

Three hours were spent with Eragon watching as Abbila struggled with the stone. She had managed to levitate it for close to ten seconds, but then it flopped back into her palm, once again lifeless. Saphira taught Braim intricate stretching maneuvers, nearly all of which he managed to accomplish.

It was within the third hour, though, that Eragon felt another presence enter his awareness, followed by three others. And then there were four beasts –common, stupid animals.

"The others have arrived," Eragon murmured, standing. "Help me gather firewood. We will give them a welcoming."

…

The meal was meat stew for all besides Arya and Eragon. It was halfway through the meal when Abbila asked nonchalantly, "Why do neither of you eat meat?"

Eragon answered quite simply, "You will not, either, when your training reaches its climax." Abbila looked at him skeptically but did not question further.

As if orchestrated, Orik asked, "So tell me, little one, how you came across the dragon's egg?"

Everything was motionless. Abbila paused, swallowed the piece of meat she had been chewing, and put aside her bowl. She looked pointedly at Eragon, as if he had caused the question, before beginning.

"I was a maid in the service of Lord Galbatorix. He took in new maids every year from the orphanage –they were given a sparse education in exchange for being obedient and quiet as they worked. I was one of his favorites. I did not speak unless spoken to, and even then it was in as little words as possible… I was a smart one," she added softly. "Those who did not adhere to his rules tended to… disappear.

"I was cleaning one of the side suites when its inhabitant came storming in, fresh from battle, in a rage. He grabbed my arm and asked me if I knew who he was. I answered simply, 'no,' although I knew very well who he was. He was the Dragon Rider, Murtagh."

There was a collective stillness among the people in the group. Even Katrina's eyes had widened. Eragon supposed that Roran had spoken to her of Eragon's adventures and the story of Murtagh.

In a calm, emotionless voice that reminded Eragon of Arya, she continued. "He shoved something into my hand. It was cool and hard, but I dared not look at it. He told me to run as fast as I could and as far away as I could get. He looked feverish with anger or fear – I wasn't sure. He told me to find the Varden. He told me to find his brother."

Her eyes bored into Eragon's, the pale blue of them too much for him to look on carelessly. She was emotionless in her gaze, simply waiting.

"He gave you the egg?" Arya spoke, her voice sounding too controlled. Eragon glanced over at her. She was collected, letting nothing out. Eragon knew she was worried.

"Yes."

"He told you to find the Varden and Eragon?" That was Roran.

"Yes."

"And he… he let you go?" Katrina.

"Yes."

"And the egg hatched for you?" Arya questioned softly.

"Yes… I do not think that was Murtagh's plan, though… he told me to deliver the egg to you, so it was mere chance that it hatched while I held it."

"It was no chance," Arya whispered, more to herself then to anyone else. "Eggs hatch only to those destined to have them. What you experienced was what we call _wyrda_. Fate."

"What is that Murtagh boy up to?" Orik growled. "What do you think of this, Eragon?"

Eragon could not speak, for the lump that developed every time Murtagh's betrayal was mentioned had resurfaced. This time, though, Eragon wanted to weep for joy. Murtagh had sent them the final egg.

Eragon stood and left the light of the campfire. The murky dirt beneath his feet muffled his unsteady footfalls. He walked until he stumbled, landing himself hard on the dirt. He didn't even bother to stand up. He lied on the dirt, tears leaking from closed eyelids.

_Do you want my company, little one? _

The voice was cool and compassionate, so sweet that it made Eragon's heart tug painfully. More tears sprung to his eyes and he was unable to answer.

There was a moment of silence and then, softly, Saphira spoke again. _Murtagh was a truly noble spirit… perhaps we thought at one point that he was doing as his father had done… but now we know, don't we? We know now that he is still looking out for us. Even if he is forced to raise a blade against you… you are brothers. Even if you are sworn enemies, he still loves you. And I love you. Don't stay out too late, little one. _

And with that, she departed from his thoughts. His tears coursed from his eyes and he felt his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. All of what she had said was true. All of what he had felt about Murtagh, all the pain he had caused himself by thinking Murtagh was now as evil as Galbatorix…

He was unsure how long he remained there, lying in the dirt, his tears causing a small eddy of water to form within the depression of dirt beneath him. But he remembered, vaguely through his relief and grief, that a tall figure lowered itself beside him. They smelled of spice and pine needles as they gently lifted him off of the ground and hugged him close.

He was unsure how long it took him to realize that it was Arya holding him and that she was crying, as well. Unusual behavior, he noted mentally, but not at all unreasonable. It was around that time that his memories failed to serve him and all went black.

…

The next morning he was up with the sun, feeling refreshed as only a night of crying could leave one. He was lying on an unfamiliar pallet that had a faint smell of clear water and grass, the smell of the forests of Ellesmera. Arya was sharpening her sword, feigning indifference, and sitting beside him.

"Arya-"

"It's about time you woke up," she murmured, not even looking up. Her clear eyes were curiously bright. It was only then that he remembered she had been crying last night, as well. "Everyone else has been up all night, milling about and being as antsy as possible. They thought you slipped into a depression."

Eragon sensed a strange lightness in her voice, something that was as precious as it was uncommon. "Forgive me, Arya Svit-kona," he answered airily. "I was simply… flooded by the sudden information." The elf barely acknowledged the honorific phrase, yet Eragon smiled gaily as if she had.

_Oh stop_, Saphira reprimanded teasingly from where she had been sitting with Briam. The emerald dragon shot an accusatory glance at Eragon, as if he had interrupted an important discussion. _Smiling like a drunken fool –you look ridiculous. _

Eragon only smiled more, pulling himself up from the pallet and beginning to roll it up. He turned to look at Arya who was still sharpening her thin blade. "Thank you for allowing me to use your pallet."

She glanced up and opened her mouth, as if to say something, when Katrina rushed over. "Oh, Eragon," she breathed, "could you take over with the girl? I'd like to go find where Roran and Orik wandered off to –I need to speak with them both."

"Of course," Eragon answered Katrina, smiling when she gushed at what a fine boy he was and how well he had adjusted to all of his life's changes. She hugged him before scampering off, childlike, to find Roran.

Abbila was sitting at the campfire, stirring the gruel cooking there with unmatched vigor. It looked to Eragon as if Katrina had been trying to teach the girl how to cook.

"Don't stir it so much and so quickly," Eragon scolded gently as he came to kneel beside her. "It will be as thin as water before it is even cooked if you do that."

"Oh," Abbila murmured, a slight hint of a blush rising to her cheeks. Her hand on the large wooden spoon slowed. "I was only a scullery maid… I never worked in the kitchens." There was an awkward silence before she ventured quietly, "I'm sorry. If I upset you last night. I thought that you might wish to know, though. Are you _really _Murtagh's brother?"

Eragon sighed softly. "Aye, we're brothers. And you didn't upset me, Abbila. The news was shocking and… and reassuring. I had thought that he had turned his back on us completely."

It was then that the girl said something infinitely wise, something that Eragon could hardly comprehend coming from such a small girl. "He _has_ turned his back on you," she murmured. "But he sent a dragon in order to compensate."

* * *

Author's Note:

Because I love you all so very very much, I decided to make an extra-long chapter in which quite a bit has come to light.

Love love,

E.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Serpent's Lair**

* * *

Nothing of interest happened on the way back to Surda, although the girl was making progress in her lessons. Each night they would spar, Abbila gripping a small stick and wielding it with obvious unease. She grew stronger though, by tiny amounts that she herself did not even notice. She would be able to hold the stick up for longer periods of time without tiring, or to steady a rock ever so slightly when using her magic to hurl it against a tree.

Eragon had found himself unable to speak with Orik, Arya or Roran often –he was much too busy with the girl. Every waking moment seemed filled with questions, questions that Eragon was hard pressed to find answers to. And sometimes Eragon had questions of his own –_why have we not seen anything of Galbatorix's men? Surely they would be after you_… But not even the girl could answer that.

"Do you think they will still be in Surda, or should we go on straight to Aberon?" Eragon asked Orik one morning while the men had split from the women folk and gone to bathe at the southern tip of the river.

Orik grumbled something like, "I wouldn't think the army would be moving back so soon, but you can never tell with these rulers. Orrin might have gone back –and Nasuada, too."

"It wouldn't really matter," Roran conceded as he lowered himself into the river water. "After all, we will go directly over the camp site in order to get to the town, won't we? If they are still there, we stop and travel the rest of the way with them. If not, we continue on to Borromeo Castle."

Eragon nodded at his reasoning, slipping into the cold water. The shock of it sent shivers up his spine but the tenseness in his shoulders released. He sighed, leaning back against the steep bank and murmured wistful, "If only the rest of our days could be as peaceful as this."

"Aye," Orik sighed.

"But then what would you and Saphira do?" Roran spoke up suddenly, voice seeming loud in the quiet of the deserted area.

Eragon frowned. He hadn't thought of that. What would he and Saphira do once all of this was over and assuming they won? Where would they go? Travel between the elves, dwarves and humans for the remainder of their unnaturally long lives?

"I don't know," Eragon admitted softly. "I don't know."

…

At the northern point of the river, right before the slow moving water forked off around a sharp bend, the women had stopped to bathe. Abbila watched subconsciously as the copper haired woman, Katrina, disrobed and showed such perfect, pearly skin that the young girl felt like weeping. And to make matters worse, the elf was carelessly stripping of her tunic and breeches, as well, and her lean, muscle-thinned body shone like pale white light in the morning.

Abbila sat at the edge of the steep bank, dangling her tanned feet into the water, arms crossed over her stomach. She would not undress. She would remain steadfast in not bathing, although she knew two nights worth of sweat clung to her body from walking all day and sparring at night.

Katrina noticed her reluctance first. The kind eyes of the woman turned soft as they gazed upon Abbila. "What is it, Abbila? Is something wrong?"

"No," she mumbled, eyes not rising. "I'm just… not in the mood to bathe."

"Nonsense," Katrina deflected, wading over to her and acting as if she would pull her bodily into the water. Abbila jerked away, unable to keep an animalistic screech from ripping through her throat. Katrina recoiled, looking shocked, before glancing worriedly over at Arya.

Arya was wetting her hair, running her fingers through the long, dark mass and seeming to not notice the little drama unfolding. But then she spoke, her voice piercing the sudden quiet. "Why will you not bathe when you seemed the most enthused out of all of us? Is the water too cold?"

Abbila blushed. "No, miss…"

Arya nodded, more to herself then to Katrina, before turning her back on the child. "Katrina, turn around." Katrina, confused, did as she was bidden. "Now, Abbila, come into the water and wash up. You cannot be covered in grime when we meet the leader of the Varden."

Abbila felt like weeping at Arya's sweetness –they would not watch her disrobe, they would not see the unevenly colored skin –the pale of her chest and stomach, the tan of her arms, face and legs from working in the sun… They would not see the scars from numerous clumsy times when she did something wrong or was punished for another maid's wrong doing. And they wouldn't see the mound of scars at her thighs from where Briam's scales had chaffed the skin into a bloody mess.

Abbila removed the tunic she wore as a dress, borrowed from the elf maid, and clumsily slipped into the water. The coldness of it felt so reassuringly fresh and clean, washing away her past and all of the ugly scars and skin with it. With only her head, neck and shoulders out of the water, she could be mistaken for a pretty maiden.

As if nothing were wrong, Katrina and Arya turned around again and went about their washing.

…

The Varden camp came into view, about fifteen miles east of where the battle had been held two weeks previously. Eragon and Saphira circled above the camp, finding that all were asleep save for fifteen guards on watch. They sent out a call, which Saphira answered with her own trumpeting. The two descended and Eragon called out, "Hold your fire, Varden! I am a Rider and a friend!"

Five of the guards proceeded to step forward through the darkness, cautiously, their bows aimed and ready. Eragon sat atop Saphira and smiled down at them, once they were close enough to actually see. He saw relief etch across each of their faces. "Argetlam," one called out, "thank the Gods you have returned! Lady Nasuada is being called upon as we speak –may I ask where the others are?"

"Further behind," he replied, climbing down from Saphira and stroking her side as he began to walk with the men back to the camp. "I came ahead to make sure none sent arrows at our approach."

"We were weary to shoot a dragon circling above," one of the guards murmured softly, "in case it really was you returned. I can only imagine what horrible fate would have descended upon us if it were not."

Eragon smiled although he felt something deep within him clench. He could feel the auras of his comrades coming closer to them, not but five minutes away. He heard one guard call to another, sending for the Lady Nasuada to be informed of the Hero's return. The guards seemed to rally around Eragon, all asking questions, which he quickly dispelled by saying warmly, "Shouldn't you all be on guard duty? What if we were attacked here and now?"

The guards dispersed with guilty laughs and Eragon was left blessedly alone. He concentrated on his approaching allies before sending out a hesitant message to Arya. _Keep Abbila and Briam behind the procession. Saphira is flying out to block her and the other dragon from view._

There was a silence, as if Arya was telling the girl child of his plan before her voice came floating over his mental connection. _Are you planning on surprising Nasuada?_

Eragon smiled. _She deserves a shock of good news, do you not think so?_

Arya did not reply for a time. Finally her voice quipped, _It shall be done_. Their connection ended like a door slamming.

Eragon had no time to ponder Arya's sudden brusqueness –there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to her moods. At least none that anyone else was able to grasp. _Saphira, will you fly out to shield Abbila and Briam's forms as they come toward us?_

_Of course, little one_, she murmured gently without a single question. Her bulk lifted into the air with a lurch and she was off, right as two guards escorted Nasuada toward him. She was dressed informally, as if just having been roused from sleep. Her gait was fast and her white petticoats and royal plum dressing robe fluttered as her feet skimmed over the ground.

Nasuada's dark face was etched with anxious joy as she ran ahead of the guards and drew up in front of him. "Oh, my Rider Eragon, you are returned!" Her eyes glowed with much more cheer than she had displayed at his leaving. She took Eragon's arms with her hands and he did the same, clasping one another in a warrior's greeting of pleasure. "You grew a young beard?" she teased, noting the scraggly stubble just at his chin. "My, you must have been busy, to forget to clean up when granted an audience."

Eragon heard the others pull up behind him, the horses snorting and Saphira's trumpet of greeting. His smile grew as he murmured reverently and with true affections for the young ruler, "My Lady, my journey with my cousin and companions Arya of Ellesmera and Orik of Farthen Dur has brought a tremendous fortune our way." He paused before adding, "My cousin's betrothed has been reunited with him and is whole. And we have brought a certain gift for the Varden." _Now_, he mentally urged Saphira.

The dragon's large body moved to the side, her movement drawing Nasuada's eyes. There stood Briam, eyes wise and so soulful; on his back was the slender waif child. She looked slightly embarrassed, but her face glowed with pride.

"We have found a new Rider, my Lady," Eragon said softly, enjoying the look of sudden wonder on Nasuada's face.

Her grip on his arms has tightened and she smiled, whispering, "Some merciful Gods be blessed, we are saved." Eragon noted the tears in her dark eyes and knew she was thinking of her fallen father who had died in hopes that someday Galbatorix would be annihilated.

She seemed to shake herself out of her mental regression into the past and smiled. "Come, all of you! You must all tell me what has happened on your journeys."

"My Lady," Arya interrupted, stepping forward, "if you would, please reserve tonight's council to Orik and myself alone. The others need sleep; we have traveled far."

Eragon was about to speak out, to say he needed not the sleep of humans, but Arya silenced him with a meaningful glance. He only nodded, murmuring, "I should take Abbila to our tent until one can be found for her."

Nasuada nodded slightly, glancing over at Roran and then Katrina. She seemed to realize something and tactfully spoke, "Eragon, I think a change of sleeping arrangements must be made. Eragon, take your pallet and allow the girl to join you in my tent. I shall have no need of it tonight. Guard," she called out to a man standing nearby, gaping at the new dragon, "go run and tell Orrin of what has happened. Request him to allow Arya, Orik and myself into his tent, if you will."

Both Roran and Katrina looked slightly red in the face. "Please, Lady," Katrina spoke softly, "I wish not to cause any troubles…"

"Nonsense," Nasuada deflected her worries, waving a hand is dismissal. "Love is rare to find these days; I will do what I can to ensure that once found, it does not die." To the guard, she added, "You are dismissed." When the guard bowed and ran off, she returned her attention to Eragon. "I wish to speak with you tomorrow, Eragon. Until then, rest." She kissed his cheek in a way that could only be described as sibling affections. "Go, then. Tomorrow we shall feast and celebrate; we shall have a binding ceremony for the two lovers and the telling of your conquest."

Eragon released his hold on his liege's arms, mumbled, "As you wish, My Lady."

…

_Truthfully_, Eragon called out to Saphira, who was on the hunt with Briam, _I do not wish to partake in a feast. I must train the girl nonstop if I am to make her presentable before the elves arrive. For all we know, they could be waiting for us at Borromeo Castle as we speak._

Saphira sniffed indignantly before murmuring, _You are right, little one, as much as I hate to admit it. I must work on my charge, as well; he is quick to learn but easily distracted. But then again, your cousin and his soon-to-be wife deserve this. She has been through things only she and Roran know of. Let them have a momentary breath of peace and merriment before we continue on to Aberon._

Eragon smiled, rolling his pallet out on the floor of Nasuada's tent, but not lying down._ Goodnight, Saphira,_ he bade softly. She returned the words with much affection and, with that, Eragon turned to Abbila. The girl was sitting on her borrowed pallet, very red in the face and refusing to meet Eragon's eyes. She subconsciously fiddled with the sleeve of her borrowed night shift from Nasuada.

Eragon could sense her unease and couldn't help but feel disoriented by the waves of confusion that came from her aura. He stood slowly, murmuring, "I'm going for a walk. Put yourself to bed and sleep well." He was out of the large tent and into the cool, dimly lit night air before he could even see the relief that came over the girl.

As he walked, he thought of lessons he might possibly teach the girl, starting with the ability to get over her self-consciousness. But then again, wasn't that a lesson that Eragon himself had to learn? He was not nearly as shy as the girl, but she had been a maid –she had been taught to be quiet and subservient. How could he reverse years of careful emotional manipulation?

"Walking about rather late, aren't you?"

Eragon turned, quickly, and saw a sight that made his breath catch. Trianna stood there, her long dark hair piled into an attractively messy pile atop her head. A few dark strands fell into her eyes, which Eragon knew were the most startling blue he had ever beheld. Lorga the serpent twined around her bare forearm, glittered in the sparse light from torches scattered about. "Trianna," he greeted, noting that his voice betrayed his surprise at seeing her. "How did you know that I was here?"

She smiled, her darkly painted lips quirking. She stepped forward, and Eragon was able to glimpse the sleeveless green robe she wore, the neckline plunging dangerously low. Eragon quickly reverted his gaze back to her face, feeling the faint blush of warmth coming to his cheeks. "I was out walking… I heard from the guards that you had returned." She stood close to him, her lovely eyes glittering in torchlight. She seemed shorter to him now, as if he had grown in inches yet again. "I've missed speaking with you," she ventured.

Eragon didn't trust himself to reply on that topic, and so he changed it. "Did you deal with the Twins' informants?"

Trianna's eyes seemed to flash in annoyance, but they were easily masked with sadness, faster than Eragon could even discern the difference. "I did," she murmured. "They were publicly executed before Lady Nasuada and the soldiers. Come," she urged, taking his hand in hers. The skin of her palm was smooth against Eragon's, small and perfect. Her smile was bewitching as she led him through a maze of tents. "We must share a drink before you are stolen away from me by your new Rider and your liege."

It took Eragon a span of four seconds to realize what she had said. By that time, he was being pulled into her tent, lit with large candles of various smells, all of which were wonderful. "How did you know about Abbila?"

"Oh, the guards are telling anyone who is awake and will listen," she murmured, leaving him in favor of searching through a small satchel on the floor. She pulled out a fluked flask and two small goblets made of crystal. "Ah, here we are," she smiled, sitting down on her pallet and pouring some of the flask's liquid into the two goblets. "Sit, sit, and stop looking so uncomfortable. I won't bite...yet," she added with a flash of her very even, very straight teeth. "Tell me, how were your adventures?" she questioned, handing him a full chalice.

Eragon told her a few of the details, his story otherwise very dull compared to the actual events. Trianna was beautiful and kind, but Eragon was slightly wary about telling her so many details of his life. He refused to forget their first meeting, when she had asked so carelessly if he was betrothed –what relevance had the question had to their situation? None. And so why did she ask it? Eragon was still trying to figure that puzzle out.

The night wore on and the flask was empty before Eragon could even realize he had drunk so much. His mind was hazy, but not in the way normal mead or beer made it; it was as if certain aspects of his reasoning decided to betray him while others were sharper than before. For instance, the part of his mind that would normally tell him that he should be back in Nasuada's tent with Abbila was not functioning; the part that told Eragon that Trianna was a beautiful woman who seemed more than willing to know him on a more _physical _basis was even stronger.

"Eragon, is something wrong?" she asked, turning those large blue eyes on him, their expression so teasing and full of emotion that Eragon's mind spun. "Eragon?"

"My head… I…"

He was leaning toward her without even realizing it; but once he did, his mind said, quite simply, _It's natural, go ahead. You're old enough to run your own life…_

His lips were on hers, tasting the alcohol there and something more; something sensuous that he had never experienced before. Her lips were full and moist against his, her arms curving around behind his back, twining through his hair…

There was a loud noise behind him before something hard and heavy hit him on the side of the head. Eragon was dislodged from Trianna, who let out a small snarl of protest. Eragon blinked back lust, seeing Angela the Witch staring down at him with irritation. "Come, Eragon, it's best not to fall so far into the serpent's lair," she was snapping, her words clipped as she helped Eragon to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Trianna cried. "This is my tent! You have no right to be in-"

"So sorry," Angela quipped brusquely. "Think of me as good as gone." And with that, she dragged Eragon, who was rather confused, out of the tent.

About thirty paces away, Eragon was able to wrestle himself away from the witch. "What are you doing?" he asked, eyes wide. "I didn't ask you to come in there and practically ruin my chances with a-"

"With a deceitful, conniving sorceress?" Angela finished, eyes unimpressed. "That drink had a small amount of wolfberry in it; it makes the drinker a bit more prone to rash actions, and your actions within Trianna's tent were quite rash."

"Are you saying that she planned this?" he asked venomously. He couldn't believe it. Not his Trianna. He then paused. _His Trianna_? Since when had she been anything but the woman he'd helped in the battles? The woman who was lovely but couldn't be trusted due to her affiliation with the Twins?

"Maybe, maybe not," Angela murmured, shrugging. "All I know is that the sorceress in that tent is in a fertile period, and I think you will understand my meaning. If you had spent the night with her, she would have become with child. And if that had happened-"

"I would be bound to her through my sense of duty," he finished, realizing what a fool he had been. It seemed to make sense now; he was the only available male Rider, he was powerful, he was possibly in line for the throne once Galbatorix was defeated and he was not betrothed. It made sense to him now, why during their first meeting Trianna was so set on finding out his affections and whether he would take over the Empire once Galbatorix was gone. It was now obvious why such a lovely woman would have chosen him.

"I'm sorry for snapping, Angela. As usual, you are right."

"I know I am," she said, but there was no smugness in her voice. She took Eragon in a one armed hug. "There now, boy. That woman would be no good for you. Don't dwell on it."

"I know," he whispered, more to himself than to Angela. He wiped at his mouth, finding that his lips were sensitive to the touch and swollen. Then, softly, he asked, "How did you know I was…"

Angela smiled. "Solembum," was all she said before turning away. "Go to bed, Rider. You will have a full day tomorrow."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**The Return**

* * *

Eragon could not fall into a sleep like trance, as it turned out. He returned to Nasuada's tent where the young Rider was already curled up fitfully on her pallet, sleeping soundly. He watched her for an hour or so, letting his body detoxify itself from the concoction he had ingested in Trianna's tent. By then he heard Saphira and Briam return to camp, padding about outside of the tent and snuffing at the air.

_Saphira, can we talk?_ He asked gently.

_Of course… What is it, little one?_

He slowly made himself recount what had happened, waiting for Saphira to snort and murmur, I told you so. But she didn't. She made the closest sound a dragon could to a sigh and whispered, _Oh, little one. I am sorry._

_Why? _Eragon laughed wryly. _You tried warning me about her. Why won't you just say that you told me so and get it over with?_

Saphira nosed her way through the tent flap, her massive head pushing into the room. She looked him directly in the eyes and said, _Tell me that you are just being so cruel because you're hurt. Please tell me that. Do you honestly think I would be so harsh as to laugh at your pain? Nay, Eragon, I will not. Instead I think I will take a feast on human flesh and go tear that damnable woman apart-_

_Saphira, no. She's just… misunderstood. Maybe she's confused._

Saphira snorted, her anger apparent and burning like blue flame in her eyes. _Misunderstood? Confused? Hardly. She knows exactly what she's doing. Eragon, she is a devil woman. I do not care that she sides with us instead of Galbatorix –she is after power and she is after you! She has let this mischief go for one night, but who knows for how long she can keep her claws away from you. _

Eragon sighed but reached out, placing a hand on Saphira's neck, stroking her scales. _Thank you for listening, Saphira._

Saphira's joy at the thanks radiated through their connection, unsaid but not unfelt. _It was my pleasure, little one. But only wait until this news reached Arya… _she murmured, rather mysteriously, before withdrawing her head from the tent.

_What? _Eragon snapped, shocked. He stumbled to his feet, not bothering to be silent, and jumped toward the tent flap. He shoved it to the side and thrust himself out of the opening-

And stumbled directly into Arya.

"Watch where you-" Eragon had begun to snap much too loudly, only to notice the aura that stood before him, imposing and utterly malevolent. It smelled of spicy pine needles. He could hear Saphira chuckling through their mental connection and Eragon now understood then why she had mentioned Arya. _Damnit, _Eragon cursed mentally. "Arya Svit-kona, I apologize for-"

"Never mind that," she retorted, emerald eyes seeming to shine in the moonlight. "Angela the Witch decided it best for me to be informed of your… _supplementary_ activities… that happened this night." She paused for a long moment, the silence heavy. Finally, she continued, "Is what she has told me true?"

Eragon's eyes shifted toward the ground, but he then remembered that he honored Arya more than that. He would look her in the eyes, like a real man, and tell her the truth. He shifted his gaze, eyes meeting hers. "It is."

She sighed, a show of exasperation if Eragon had ever seen one. She shook her head, long hair moving with the motion. "Eragon, I cannot believe you would do this to me," she murmured, her eyes not meeting his. Her lips were pursed and he could distinctly see a vein in her temple working furiously.

"What do you speak of, Arya?" Eragon began softly, switching to the ancient language. He could clearly feel the auras of other people around them pulling their bodies into wakefulness… most probably due to Eragon's shout. He could sense the new Rider awakening, as well, and she was the last person he wanted knowing of his shameful encounter with the sorceress.

She glared at him, accusing and as if he had purposely cornered her, and quipped in the ancient language, "You know very well what I mean. You are under my supervision, Eragon Shadeslayer, and I expected you to act with a bit of restraint and decency while I spoke with your liege. I suppose that was too much to ask for."

Before Eragon could even begin to defend himself, Saphira growled softly and threateningly. Briam tilted his head to the side, confused. Arya looked startled, as if forgetting Saphira had been there at all, before her defenses were back in place and impenetrable. The dragon seemed to be exchanging words with the haughty elf, yet Eragon was blocked from the conversation. After what felt like hours, Arya looked back to Eragon. "Is what your dragon said true?"

Eragon felt like laughing, but he felt Arya might lose her mind if he did something so disrespectful. She already looked close to killing someone. "I'm not sure, Arya Svit-kona… she has blocked me from her mind."

To both of them, Saphira murmured, _I spoke to you in the ancient language, Arya. You know I speak the truth._

Arya closed her eyes and sighed before a hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "I must go now. I need to have a word with Trianna before too much attention is attracted by this foolishness."

Eragon grabbed Arya's arm before she could turn away. He knew it was hardly the smartest thing to do, but he needed to speak with her before she went to talk with Trianna. "Arya, please," he began, voice soft and whispered in the ancient language. "It is not her fault entirely. I let her lead me into her tent and I accepted the drink. I did not know it would inebriate me the way it did, but I…" he paused, trying to find a way to word his feelings. "I was partly to blame for succumbing to it, as well."

Something in Arya's face seemed to rearrange itself; an emotion that Eragon couldn't quite grasp passed through her eyes before disappearing. She pulled her arm away from him and murmured, "Eragon, you are young and I understand that it must be hard for you out here –surrounded by men and only a few women to divert your mind… But you must realize that the fate of our world is in your hands. Now is not the time to be childish and rash. Save that for later, once all of this messy business is taken care of."

"Yes, Arya Svit-kona. I understand," Eragon murmured, dropping his arm to his side. Arya looked hard at Eragon for a long moment before turning.

"Goodnight, Shadeslayer. Try not to worry yourself over it too much. It was simply an err of naivety."

And like that, simple and cool, detached and utterly immovable, she disappeared between the mazes of tents. Eragon turned back to his own sleeping quarters, only to find Abbila awake and hugging her knees to her chest. Her hair was mussed from sleep, eyes bleary. "I heard you and Arya talking," she whispered when he cast her a tired, worn out look. "She sounded… upset. Is everything alright?"

Eragon snorted back a wry laugh. He sat down heavily on his pallet, letting his hand fall in a hand. "Honestly? No… things have not been what one would call 'comfortable' for a very long time." _Since Brom died…Since Murtagh disappeared, only to become my sworn enemy… since Arya learned of my feelings and decided to shun me for them… since Trianna came, trying to seduce and woo me with those eyes…since Katrina was kidnapped and who knows what else…since Glaedr and Oromis passed on without me even being by their side… _

Abbila was silent, as if trying to puzzle out the riddle of emotions behind Eragon's troubled eyes. She made as if to stand, her motions seeming confused and tense. Finally she eased into the upright position, slowly coming over to sit beside him. Softly she whispered, "I'm sorry, Eragon; even if I know nothing of what you suffer. Even though I am still unsure as to all that may have happened, I am sorry. I know such words from me, a mere child with no knowledge of the world outside of the palace, are hardly any comfort. But I wish you to know that if I could, I would shoulder some of that discomfort."

Eragon was struck by this child's –no, this _woman's_- words. He had never noticed it before, but she was very close to being a woman in human terms. Yet she would live as long as Eragon, possibly longer, if she and Briam had the affection for one another that he and Saphira had. She still had the youthful cast about her; the full pink cheeks of blooming age, the large, innocent eyes of youth, the slightly rounded swell to the abdomen and hips. She had filled out nicely in the days spent with them. Eating regularly had done her good, putting some meat on her slightly malnourished frame.

"Thank you, Abbila," Eragon finally replied. She offered him an engaging smile, seeming truly pleased, but something in her eyes shifted. There was an expression there, somehow shining through, in the form of sorrow. Before Eragon could question, she slipped back over to her pallet and lied down, falling quickly into slumber.

…

The heat of the midday sun was stifling to the point that Eragon wondered how the poor fools getting drunk at such an early hour were faring. Drinking in the direct sunlight had fell many men during their escapades, yet still people drank while the sun was at its highest. The laughter and clamor of those celebrating at Nasuada's feast echoed through the deserted landscape.

Eragon turned his eyes to where Abbila sat on a rock, staring stonily at a clump of dirt. She had been sitting thus for an hour, trying to master a feat Eragon had only just learned –how to feel the presence of everything in his path. She had not stirred impatiently while sitting on her stone, which pleased Eragon. Although the lesson would have been much better if it had been done in Ellesmera, this would be the best they could possibly achieve.

Through their mental connection, Eragon could hear Saphira and Briam going through aerial battle tactics. Briam was a bit clumsy, even for his young age. Saphira had commented that maybe he was not the strongest flyer, yet she would teach him as much as possible regardless. As Briam struggled through his lessons, Eragon cast a sidelong glance at his own pupil. She seemed to be stirring.

Abbila finally looked up, blinking as if one who had just been subjected to a trance. "Eragon," she whispered, eyebrows furrowed. "Eragon, something is coming."

Eragon was instantly weary. It was very possible that the girl had simply mistaken one of the thousands of auras around them for a foe, but it was unlikely. As a Rider, they both had seemed to be gifted with good common sense and an even better intuition. "Tell me, Abbila."

The girl hesitated, but then seemed to realize the gravity of the situation. "I was just sensing what the worms were doing; watching them burrow through the dirt, when something seemed to… _tug_… on my consciousness. I could feel something –not quite a presence, but something bad. Something very, very bad…" by this time, Abbila was trembling, her eyes looking far away. Her tone had gone soft and childish. "Oh gods above, something is coming… Eragon, don't you feel it?"

Eragon's eyes widened. What was wrong with her? _Saphira! Go scout around for intruders and tell Briam we need him here now. Make haste!_

Saphira was smart enough to not question or second guess. There was a flurry of movement; Saphira circled away from where she and Briam had been training and Briam went into a steep nosedive toward his master's location. Back on the ground, Eragon reached out mentally. He was trying valiantly to find the source of her fear and sudden strangeness. He found nothing. Familiar auras brushed his consciousness, all seeming to be that of an ally or a friend.

"Abbila, what-"

Abbila had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, doubled over as if she were about to be sick. She was rocking to and fro quickly, like a child possessed. Briam landed, snorting worriedly and lurching over to his rider's side. Abbila ceased her rocking and became still. Her large eyes rose and met Eragon's. "Get your sword ready, Rider," she whispered. "He's coming for you."

Eragon couldn't even question before a yell broke through the crowd. "_Eragon_!" He turned to the voice, hand already on his dagger. Angela stood there, looking haunted. "Did you not sense him?" she asked snappishly. "Do you not feel him here?"

"Angela, what-"

"Stop talking," she snipped, "and feel out the wicked force fighting off your elven companion's tries to subdue it."

Arya. Arya was in danger. Arya was in danger because this thing, this 'wicked force' was after _him_. Barzul was out of its sheath within mere seconds and Eragon launched himself toward the throng of people in the festivities.

No one seemed to know that anything was happening. Eragon spotted his cousin making merry and drinking with his fiancée and Nasuada. The Urgals were mingling with the dwarves, who amazingly seemed to take a liking to the beings. But _where_ was Arya?

He reached out for her, only to find she was trying to block herself from him. She was failing, though, and Eragon could sense her powerful aura, now waning in strength, coming from the northern encampment. Eragon had never run as fast as he did at that moment. He was at the northern edge of the camp in mere minutes. He could see the dark haired Arya, sword drawn and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Arya-"

"Stay back, Eragon," she growled between clenched teeth. "I do not need you meddling in-"

The sharp sound of an arrow streaking through the air filled Eragon's ears. One moment Arya had been standing there, distressed and malevolent, and the next she was on the ground with an arrow sticking sickeningly from her shoulder. She cursed but stood, drawing her sword in one swift movement. It was then that the aura swept over Eragon; it was so familiar and so grieved for that it made him start.

"It's good to see you are still among the living… brother."

Eragon watched as a shadow disentangled itself from one of the tents, stepping into the light. Murtagh stood before him, Zar'roc in his right hand, a rather haughty look of superiority on his face.

Arya stood, anger flashing in her eyes. She snapped the arrow in half, glowering. "You have not finished with me, yet, traitor. You cannot simply switch opponents in the middle of a fight, even if it was a mental one."

"Oh?" Murtagh asked, smirking. "Alright, then, I will finish with you." He raised his left hand before bringing it forcefully down. At the signal, a volley of arrows erupted from the trees. Three tore into the flesh of her stomach, a fourth entering her thigh and sending her to the ground with a cry.

"Brother," Murtagh drawled, "now that your little elf is out of the way… shall we have some fun?"


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Healing Wounds**

* * *

Eragon's first instinct was to run to Arya's aid, but to do so would put his back to Murtagh as well as place the rest of the camp in danger. _Saphira, _he called out calmly, trying to keep himself from becoming overly distressed, _Murtagh is here._

_What?!_

_Saphira, please, now is not the time. Come to the Northern encampment. We are here, and Murtagh does not have Thorn. Arya is injured and I need you to take care of her for me._

_You aren't planning on fighting him alone, are you? _Saphira asked, as if the idea were absurd. _Eragon, Arya hasn't finished teaching you how to master the sword-_

_Saphira! _Eragon yelled forcefully, stopping her in mid-sentence. Calmly, he finished, _Please, put your faith in me. Murtagh will not kill me, and he will not force me to go back with him to Galbatorix._

_But how do you know this, Eragon? _Saphira asked softly. He could tell she was rocketing through the air and toward his location.

Eragon smiled grimly over at Murtagh, who had taken to circling him. _Because… he is my brother. _As he said this, he felt more then heard Saphira land behind him, growling deeply in her throat.

_Traitor, _Saphira hissed.

"Tell your dragon to not interfere," Murtagh called out to him, giving an experimental swipe of Raz'zac. The blade cut soundly through the air, making a sharp sound.

Eragon steadied himself and found, much to his surprise, he was not afraid. "Saphira knows better than to interfere in one of my fights, Murtagh. Stop stalling and initiate."

Murtagh smiled ruefully. "I pity you, brother; you have obviously forgotten our last battle. Simply agree to come with me and I will not have to harm you."

Eragon shook his head. "No, Murtagh. Stop stalling and _initiate_."

Before the last word could leave his mouth, Murtagh soundlessly launched himself at Eragon. Eragon felt a jolt of something deep in his stomach before he threw up Barzul. What was it? Fear? _No_, Eragon realized with a smile. _It's_ _excitement_.

They were both leaning heavily into their swords, trying to make the other back down first, trying to make the other slip up. Their faces were mere centimeters away, and Eragon could now see clearly some of his own features in this boy. The nose, the brow, the same intense expression… "Why aren't you going to ask me why I'm doing this?" Murtagh taunted, but there was only pain in his eyes. "Why won't you ask me why I would take my sword against the only person I could call friend and my brother –both in blood and in arms? _Why won't you ask_?"

"Because," Eragon began simply, feeling nothing but sympathy for his older brother. He reverted to the ancient language, wanting Murtagh to know the sincerity in his words. "I know you didn't want to. I know Galbatorix forced it upon you. I know you, Murtagh, and I know you did not wish to turn on us." Eragon disentangled his sword from Murtagh's and fell back a few paces.

Murtagh's face was an even blank as he pulled his blade into a parallel with his body. In the ancient language, he murmured, "You speak the truth, brother of mine. But know that I am not here for you; not entirely. I am on the search for the other Rider, the one who… _slipped_… out of my master's grasp." He threw himself toward Eragon again, giving a long, sweeping strike at his midsection. Eragon pulled the blade parallel to him, blocking it, and using Murtagh's momentum to push off of his blade and spin out of the way.

Eragon brought a long swipe down from the left, aiming for the legs, yet Murtagh easily dodged that. "What Rider do you speak of?" Eragon asked softly, reverting back to normal tongue. "There is no Rider here besides me."

Murtagh smiled softly, as if humored by that assessment, and whispered, "Now tell me that in the ancient language." He pulled back, putting his blade into the dirt.

Eragon paused. He would have to plan his sentence out very carefully in order to say it in the ancient language. Thankfully, to his great luck, the ancient language was most literal. He repeated, "There is no Rider _here_ besides me." For there wasn't –Abbila was still in the Western encampment.

Murtagh laughed humorlessly and shook his head. "Well… then I suppose I will be going. You spoke in the ancient language, and therefore you cannot have lied." He took up his sword and returned it to his sheath, turning away. He did pause, though, and glanced over his shoulder. "Believe me, though, when I say this –the next time we meet, one of us will be wounded severely. Galbatorix will not leave me open to such loose interpretations again."

Before he could get too far away, Eragon called, "Goodbye then… brother." Eragon saw a tightening in Murtagh's shoulders, the slight falter of his step, but then it was gone. Murtagh was once again walking away from him without even so much as a goodbye.

He turned to find Arya sitting up, a pained expression on her face, and breaking the shafts of the arrows in her stomach. Eragon was instantly in a rage. _Saphira! I told you to help her!_

Saphira looked at him with a glare of irritation. _She refused. She's a stubborn one, as you know. She threatened to cut my scales while I was sleeping if I did such._

Eragon forced back his rage as he looked down on Arya. She refused to meet his gaze as he bent down, taking one of her arms and helping her to stand. When she protested, coldly and indifferently, that she could manage it herself, Eragon sighed deeply and for once said something crossly to Arya. "I am a bit disconcerted right now, Arya, and I would highly appreciate it if you did not speak."

Arya, to his surprise, said nothing more. Eragon shouldered most of her weight and tripped back toward the tents. Thankfully, though, he did not have to venture far. Angela the Witch was standing near one of the tents, looking irate. "Get her inside, I shall fix her up as best I can. You come in and help me, as well, Rider," she murmured when he began to leave after setting Arya inside of the tent. "You have magic on your side, while I only have tonics."

Eragon unsurely entered the tent. Arya was laid out on an unadorned pallet, eyes closed but still conscious. Eragon sat beside the pallet, watching as Angela prepared an elixir for Arya to drink. The elf dutifully did as she was told. "To prevent bleeding when we pull the arrows out," Angela explained. "Now come on, help me get this tunic off."

Eragon started and Arya's eyes widened. "What?" Eragon exclaimed, feeling heat rising on his cheeks. "I can't, I mean, she's…I…she has magic, doesn't she?"

Angela rolled her eyes and helped Arya to sit up. "Eragon, if you would be so kind as to find a backbone within the next two seconds, it would be most appreciative. She is drained of magic, Eragon! Did you not know what exertion she was using against Murtagh? There now, sweet," she added to Arya, "calm yourself. It's not as if Eragon's unfamiliar with women," she added, giving Eragon a pointed smirk and rubbing the Trianna incident in his face. That sentence didn't seem to make Arya any happier.

The two tried pulling the shirt off of her, but it kept getting snagged on the broken arrow shafts and tugging painfully at her skin. Finally Angela took out a curved blade and slit the shirt down her back, peeling it off of her with ease. Solembum sat in the corner, looking curious yet remaining silent. Then, Angela laid Arya down on the pallet, nude from the waist up.

Eragon had not been ready for that. He purposely kept his eyes focused on the ground in front of him until Angela snapped, "Boy, you won't be healing wounds by glaring at that dirt there!"

Eragon glanced up at Arya's eyes and found that she wasn't even looking at him. Her head was turned to the side, eyes focused on the tent flap swaying in the faint breeze. Her lips were pursed, whether in embarrassment or anger he could not tell. Eragon was careful to keep his eyes from wandering lower than her shoulder, where the first would was located. He healed it quickly before moving down to the three at her stomach and, finally, her thigh.

He was quick to pull himself to his feet, wiping his hands on his breeches and heading for the tent flap. Angela followed him, smiling cryptically, and called out, "Thank you, Rider. Your services are much appreciated."

Eragon didn't even try to puzzle out the meaning of that. He needed to find Nasuada and tell her of the day's happenings.

…

Nasuada looked drawn as Eragon recounted the events of the day. Abbila sat behind him, calmed from her previous hysteria and rather demure.

"So," Nasuada began softly, carefully. "So Murtagh was… here?" She swallowed, as if the information meant something more than she was letting on. She picked up her goblet of wine but only whetted her lips with it before asking a bit too harshly, "Why did you not sound the alarm? He could have felled the entire encampment before we knew what was happening."

Eragon sighed. "Nasuada-"

"Eragon, as your liege lord I must take responsibility for all that happens to you or happens because of your actions. Murtagh is no longer one of us. He has turned the tables and switched sides, Eragon. He could have killed all of us, and if what you say is true about the arrows, he had men stationed out in the woods."

"Nasuada, he would not have harmed us," Eragon argued. "He is my _brother_ –he gave us the keys to success, Abbila and Briam. And he hates Galbatorix!"

Nasuada slammed her hand down on the desk, making Abbila let out a small shriek. Eragon jumped, noting the rage that had suddenly come over the young ruler. "Listen to me, Rider," she hissed, "Your brother is no longer one of us! He has sworn allegiance to Galbatorix and he will kill us under the one single commend, even if he doesn't want to. The Murtagh we knew and loved is _dead_, Eragon, do you understand me? He is gone! You will either need to remove this threat or he will remove you." She paused, her hands trembling. "Which will it be?" she whispered.

Eragon stood, slowly, and motioned for Abbila to leave. She scampered out and Eragon replied, rather stiffly, "If it comes between us, only the gods may decide who wins. But… I will fight to defend the Varden with all I possess."

Nasuada nodded, sinking back into her chair, looking tired and worn. "I will have the guard alerted as to the threat. Tomorrow we begin our trip back to Orrin's castle. You are dismissed."

Eragon quickly left the tent, but not before noticing the large tears that fell from Nasuada's dark eyes.

"It's especially hard on her," a voice said softly beside him. Eragon jumped, seeing Arya standing off to the side, glancing in the tent through the slit between flaps. "She's in love with him – Murtagh. She used to be, at least. Or so she claimed; I had always expected it to be a childhood fancy and nothing more. She has taken his betrayal harder than the rest of us."

Eragon couldn't help but stare. Arya wore nothing save for a pair of close fitting, black cloth breeches and a breast band. Where she had been shot, there were small, pearly mounds of scar tissue marring an otherwise flawless body. A strip of cloth held her hair back and her eyelashes shone dark against her snowy complexion and dark green eyes. The scant light of the setting sun cast vermilion shadows over her.

Her gaze turned to meet his and she murmured, "We must train; you are in dire need of improvement for your technique. Bring the girl along with you; we might as well kill two birds with one stone."

…

Eragon found his muscles trembling as he leaned heavily against his sword, which he had thrust into the dirt. Abbila had ducked out of the melee fighting quite some time ago, having nearly collapsed under the weight of her newly earned sword; one which Nasuada granted her after she had snapped the wooden practice swords.

Although she was still rather weak, her progress was impressive. She was getting the idea of swordsmanship nearly as fast as Eragon had. If Eragon recalled a previous conversation with Arya correctly, Dragon Riders tended to be easier to train then regular people. At this time, Eragon was most thankful for that.

Arya was breathing deeply but showed no sign of fatigue. "Abbila, you have done well," she murmured, sheathing her sword. "Go get some sleep. Nasuada will join you in her tent."

Abbila looked crestfallen. "But… what about Eragon?" she asked softly.

Eragon felt discomfort prickle his skin. "Do not fret over it, Abbila. I will be fine, simply not in your tent."

Abbila nodded, though there was still a sad cast to her youthful face. She took her sword in hand and reverently slipped it into a sheath Nasuada had fixed her with. Abbila cast one last glance over at Eragon before turning and tripping her way across clods of dirt and toward the lit tents.

Eragon silently picked Barzul up and sheathed it, murmuring, "What would you have me do tonight?"

"Tonight," Arya began softly, "you will join us and keep watch… unless you know any sorceresses willing to share their bed," she added, nonchalantly, before striding off. Eragon's eyes widened, wanting to sputter his disbelief. She was still harboring what had happened with Trianna?

Eragon sighed and began walking after Arya. The last thing he saw of her before she turned the next corner was a flash of her green eyes, acting like beacons in the dark.


	11. Chapter 10

** Chapter Ten**

**Borromeo**

* * *

The night seemed to go on forever, perhaps pausing to make every minute seem like an eternity to those awake and uncomfortable beneath its watchful eye.

Eragon's watch had not gone as well as he had thought –although it seemed pretty much assured that no enemies were within the surrounding areas, the watch was extremely jumpy. Eragon had nearly been shot with an arrow after coming back from relieving himself. Only quick reflexes and magic saved him from becoming a target.

Eragon had only seen faint glimpses of Arya –it seemed as if she was dead set on avoiding another chance encounter with him. It bothered him slightly, but he was glad to note that the fear of being cast out was not as strong as it had been earlier in the year. At Ellesmera, Eragon had nearly died when Arya had avoided him like the plague. Now, though, he knew that he could prevail even without the elf around him.

After all, he had a Rider to train and the future of Alagaesia resting on his shoulders.

Saphira, from where she had been patrolling the skies high above him, took out enough time to croon gently in his mind, _Congratulations, little one… you are growing up._

…

Dawn came around and the horses decided to canter about on their lines, nickering in an unsettled way and prancing about. This worried more than one of the guards and set them all on edge.

A quiet had settled over the entire camp. Everyone ate the thin gruel breakfast they were supplied with forced mouthfuls, eyes uneasily fluttering about. Only two figures moved through the crowd as if nothing had happened worthy of being worried: Angela the Witch and Trianna the sorceress.

Trianna had her mass of dark hair piled into an attractively messy pile atop of her head. She wore a crimson, plain dress that clung neatly to every curve and accenting every beautiful contour. Her blue eyes were left in stark relief against pale, flawless skin. Eragon felt his insides give a little shudder before he forced himself to stand. That sorceress would not trap him again –gods only knew what might happen.

He was nearly out of yelling range, so even if the sorceress did cry out to him he could feign ignorance. To his misfortunate luck, though, it was then when Arya turned the corner and ran directly into him, Abbila trailing behind the elf. Eragon stumbled backward, Arya letting out an unintelligible gasp of angered shock. "What do you think you are-" she began, but was cut off by a velvety voice.

"Oh, Eragon, it seems you were frightened away when I had come only to talk with you," someone purred behind him silkily. Trianna was standing there, dark lips gleaming in the sunlight. Eragon turned frustrated eyes from Arya to Trianna, wishing the earth would eat him up then and there. Abbila, in her adolescent innocence, had the grace to look confused.

Arya was glaring at the sorceress and Trianna simply smirked back at the elf. "Oh, my, did I interrupt something?" Trianna chortled. "Perhaps _mother_-_elf _Arya was scolding you for being out too late last night?"

The jibe was said playfully, but even Eragon could sense the undercurrent of competitiveness in the dark woman's voice. Arya sensed it, too, and her finely arched eyebrows narrowed over her emerald eyes. Instead of making a nasty scene, Arya murmured simply, "If I were a simple human with only mediocre magic skills, I would be quick to find my place in the pecking order. You might end up upsetting a very _irritable _foe."

Arya turned with that, making as if to walk in the direction she had come from. Trianna, though, would not take the taunt lying down. Anger flashed through her blue eyes and she called out, "I hope you are not referring to yourself, _elf_. You are no threat to me –_Eragon_ would not allow it."

Eragon's eyes widened, looking at Trianna as if she had sprouted another head from her shoulder. He then turned to look over at Arya, who had halted. The elf's back was so still and straight that it looked painful. Arya turned her head, glancing over her shoulder, and said quite simply, "Not even Eragon could protect your pretty face from meeting my blade, sorceress."

Trianna said nothing else, simply smirked at the back of Arya's head as she disappeared. To Eragon, she murmured sweetly, "Such abhorred company you keep, Eragon. Have you thought of a muzzle to keep your pet elf calm?" She then turned her cold gaze to Abbila. "And what are you doing here?" she asked snappishly. "Do you not see this is an adult's conversation?"

Eragon had, at first, been much too shocked to say anything. First a verbal assault on Arya, and then one on his charge and the only other Rider the Varden had? What had gotten into Trianna? Finally he pulled himself together enough to say, "Abbila is enough of an adult to listen in on any conversation that happens to be practically _yelled_ across the encampment. She is only a few years younger than myself –and do you _fancy_ me a child?"

Trianna seemed to have deiced to slide things over as smoothly as possible with a, "Oh, no, Eragon… I never meant to imply-"

But Eragon would hear no more of it. He grabbed the clasp at the throat of her dress, pulling her closer to him rather roughly. She stumbled, blue eyes widening. "Listen to me, witch," he said as calmly as he could although his hands were shaking with anger. "If you ever threaten Arya again, I will deal with you myself. And as for Abbila… do not even glance in her direction, let alone speak to her, or I will take actions against you."

Trianna's eyes had gone from the pleading damsel-in-distress to anger. She glared sulkily at him and tore herself from his grip. "Do not touch me," she snapped before turning on her heel. She marched away, something strangely wounded about the way she walked.

Abbila looked up at Eragon, wonderment shining in her pale eyes. "Eragon, thank you…"

Eragon shook his head. "It was nothing. Go get Briam, we have a long ride ahead of us."

…

The entourage traveled deep into the night, even after there was no light to see by save for the torches nearly every man and woman held. They did not pause for rest until the lights at the front of the caravan flickered and faded out into nothingness. Even then, people did not waste time setting up tents. It would take much too long and they only had approximately five hours to rest. Why spend four of those setting up and breaking down tents?

Eragon stood watch again that night, nibbling on berries he and Abbila had found on their journey. Saphira had declared them safe for eating, and the guards had stocked up in order to sustain themselves through the night. Abbila was lying on the ground, resting against Briam's slick scales and fast asleep off to Eragon's left. He nibbled on another berry as one of the guardsmen mumbled something about needing to go to the restroom.

Gradually the other guards began to disperse –at first, Eragon hadn't noticed it. But then, when he was left by himself, he realized something was going on. He turned his head, glancing through the murk that seemed to separate before his superior vision. And there was Angela the Witch, smiling coyly at him.

Eragon sighed, feeling uneasy already. "What is it?"

Angela only shrugged. "Nothing, really. I simply came out here to say how courageous it was for you to go against Trianna. The entire encampment is buzzing with it… silently buzzing, but buzzing nonetheless."

Eragon was stunned. "Why have I not heard of all of this?"

Angela grinned. "Do you really think anyone wants to suffer your wrath after how you treated the sorceress?" She quirked an eyebrow before chuckling. "Oh, and Arya sends her salutations, as well. I have never seen her in such a spirited mood as she is this evening. If I didn't know better, I'd say she smiled while eating dinner with your cousin and his charming new bride."

Eragon frowned. "I have not visited with them in too long. I must find them tomorrow and spend at least an hour or so with them."

Angela shrugged again, as if it were unimportant. "They both know you are busy. Oh, but Arya also wished me to pass the word along to you –Katrina is pregnant."

He nearly choked on his berries. "What?" he gasped, his eyes widening with the horror of realization. "Ka… Katrina?"

"Hush!" Angela exclaimed with a laugh. "Yes, Katrina. What is so wrong with that? She will be safe enough in the castle walls –Orrin, no matter how bumbling a buffoon he is, will keep her well. He values love and children almost as much as he does science."

Eragon shook his head slowly, trying to come to terms with his thoughts. He was not even seventeen yet and he was to be an uncle! "How did this come to light?"

"Katrina asked Arya if she would use her magic to feel for a child within the womb. It is hardly a difficult procedure, especially for one so talented in bodily spells as Arya. She used her powers and found a developing child, just newly borne, and caused the mother nothing but a faint tickle."

Eragon shook his head, glancing up to the sky. "Roran surely wastes no time," Eragon murmured, sighing.

Angela smiled again and Eragon knew just before she opened her mouth that he should not have said that. "I am sure the master Eragon wouldn't waste any time with his bride, either."

Eragon felt fire rising to his cheeks and he snapped, "Do you not have something more important to do then torment me?"

Angela laughed. "As it so happens, I do. Solembum and I have some business to attend to this night. Until the morning, Rider!" she called, still chuckling as she turned and marched away.

Eragon sighed, turning his attention to the sky. If he concentrated hard enough, he could pick out the slowly circling shape of Saphira, ever vigilant.

…

Katrina was bubbling with excitement during the week's remainder of the trip. Roran was, as well, but he was able to keep a hold of himself and march in relative silence with the others of the caravan.

The soldiers and fighters were hardly good company for the womenfolk such as Abbila and Katrina, but they were more than suitable for Eragon and Roran. A sort of gossip line had started, where the men at the front would relay their fears and suspicions down the line to the others. Then, at the back an answer or opinion would be passed forward, each new person adding in parts of their own. It took close to an entire day for the whole message to spread from each man, but it was an effective way to keep the men's minds at ease.

Arya took to weaving in and out of the men, moving from one battalion to another as if making sure ranks could be formed if need be. Eragon had watched her work tirelessly and without complaint with admiration before Saphira landed close by, startling a few new foot soldiers.

_Come flying with me, little one. Briam and Abbila are already in the air. They believe they spot the spires of Borromeo castle._

This was some of the best news Eragon could have been told. "Perfect. Fly me over to Nasuada's line first, Saphira, so I might tell her," he ordered, climbing onto her back with easy agility.

Saphira lifted into the air, beating her massive wings thrice before making a low-flying sprint toward the front of the line. Nasuada rode on an impressive steed covered in purple plumes. Orrin rode beside her, looking eagerly around at the impressive flora.

Saphira touched down in front of them and easily kept pace with their horses while Eragon turned to speak. "My lady," he began, making the best bow he could muster on the back of a moving dragon, "and my lord… the turrets of Borromeo castle are within sight."

Nasuada looked relieved whereas Orrin was delighted.

"Perfect!" Orrin cried out. "If your liege lord will allow it, might you fly ahead and tell them we are approaching? I believe we should be there by nightfall if your words are true."

Nasuada nodded. "Yes, please do. And see that we may have the back courtyard and some of the battlements for our men to sleep in. We are all weary and need much rest."

"Of course my lady, my lord." He made another stiff, informal bow and urged Saphira into the air. It was time to visit the castle of King Orrin once again.

…

The guards seemed to recognize Saphira as the same dragon who startled them a month previously when she landed on the main turret. Eragon held up his hands with a well placed, "_Eka aí friai un Shur'tugal_!" and all motion halted.

"Is that the Rider Eragon?" someone called from the assembled crowd of guards. Slowly the crossbows were lowered and swords were put away.

"Aye!" Eragon called out. "I am the one called Eragon. I have lighted here upon the battlement only two fortnights ago! I come to bring news that your King Orrin, as well as the leader of the Varden, Nasuada, will be here no later than tomorrow morning."

There was a mixed response. Some openly cheered while others looked confused as to what they should do now. Finally a finely dressed man, probably an advisor or chief of staff, stepped forward. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight and he murmured, "Come down from there, Rider, and come inside. Let your dragon prowl the land for meat and we shall treat you to a meal."

The offer was tempting, but Eragon found himself declining. "Forgive me for what may seem like impudence," Eragon began, thankful now for the time spent in Ellesmera –if nothing else, it had broadened his vocabulary. "But my place belongs at my liege's side. We shall meet again very soon."

The bald man bowed stiffly, murmuring, "As it please you, Rider. _Astra esterni ono thelduin_," he added, raising a hand in a farewell.

Eragon repeated the phrase, making the identical hand motion to the man, before Saphira rose to the air with a lurch.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

**Midnight Dance**

* * *

The tall spires of Borromeo castle stood regal and erect against the desert surroundings. Eragon and Abbila had chosen to walk the final five miles, riding on the backs of Saphira and Briam. Nasuada's expression had become far less terse and more elegantly calm, allowing the youth and beauty she possessed to flood her face.

Eragon looked into the dark sky, speckled with diamond stars, and let out a soft sigh. Maybe now there would be some sort of peace, some tranquility and rest for the weary. Namely the soldiers and Abbila, but Nasuada was looking a bit worse for wear, as well…

It was then that Arya broke through the ranks, silent yet quick on her light feet. "Eragon," she hissed softly when she pulled up beside Saphira, "listen!"

Eragon went silent, ears perking up for any sign of sound or movement. There was nothing at all. He was about to ask Arya if she was simply imagining things when her statement hit him. _Listen –silence_. Why were the night birds not hooting? Why were there no cicadas buzzing? Silently, Arya pulled her sword from within its sheath, eyes scanning the darkened horizon. There were no hiding places to be seen, which was strange –the scraggly forest was too thinned to hide anyone. The sands were relatively flat and stretched taunt.

_Eragon, _Saphira's voice echoed in his mind, slightly alarmed. _Eragon, they are beneath us._

_What? _Arya asked, seeming to have linked into their connection. Her eyes went to the sand, narrowed green orbs searching fruitlessly in the darkness. _I see nothing, Saphira._

_They are ahead, fifteen paces. Not human, _Saphira added, sniffing the air delicately with her large nose. _Not human, but certainly looking for food._

The scent of whatever it was that Saphira had smelled reached the horses, which went into an instant panic. Nasuada's eyes widened as she gripped the reins of her violently rearing animal, letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp and yelp. Eragon grabbed her reins and forced the horse down, yelling above the din of panic, "Get the horses back!"

Arya, beside him, took up her own commands. "Archers and foot soldiers, forward! Ready yourselves!" Her cried brought instant movement –panic was nowhere to be soon, for these seasoned soldiers knew that such emotions brought only trouble. They stood, readied and in formation, with Eragon, Abbila and Arya at the lead.

The two dragons and Arya's calm steed (soothed, Eragon suspected, by its mental connection with Arya) slowly stepped forward, hooves and claws sinking into soft sand and into the clay-like ground beneath. It was then when Eragon saw a slight stirring within a sand trap off to the right. Before he could so much as take a breath, the things rose from their thin-layered graves and charged.

Eragon had never seen anything like them. At first glance, he had thought them to be dogs, but these beasts were furless, having tough, leathery-looking skin that clung to bony bodies. Large spines, not unlike Saphira's, covered the lean backs and spiraled down the tail.

The one in the lead leaned its head back while running, letting out an awful roar. The sand surrounding them seemed to erupt and more of the beasts emerged, gnashing teeth and growling.

The men seemed to pause momentarily, fear gripping each and every one of them, before they surged, as a group. Yelling and raised voices met Eragon's ears as steal clashed into leathery hides, as the beasts yelped and sputtered in gutted voices. Saphira had jerked into action, swinging her massive tail and knocking three of the mutts into the changing pack, corroding the numbers and making many of them fall back. Arya had charged into the center of the fray, jumping off of her horse and swinging her sword as if it were a dancer's ribbon. Abbila and Briam seemed to be faring well, too; the girl child's weapon was sullied with blue blood from the animals and Briam was in the process of tearing into one of the foe's necks.

Within five minutes, the entire pack lay dead at the men's feet. Arya slowly returned to the group, splattered with gore; her dark hair was falling from the simple bun it had been arranged into earlier that day. She seemed to neither be fazed that the hounds of hell had just attacked them, nor that she had charged into the middle and single-handedly felled most of the pack.

"Are any dead?" she called out. No one spoke, only shook heads. She seemed pleased with that, though only Eragon could tell. After months of analyzing her, he recognized the slight change in her eyes, the lessening of the angry slits. "Are any wounded?"

This produced many voices, and the next hour was spent with Eragon and Arya circulating among the masses, healing wounds to the best of their abilities.

Abbila accompanied Eragon, watching as he healed the men and softly reciting the _waise heill_ to herself. Finally, once Eragon was nearly done with his rounds and feeling more than slightly drained, she spoke up excitedly. "Eragon, can I try?"

He paused, feeling unease prickling at his skin. She was good with magic –still a bit wobbly, but she was progressing fast enough. He had to let her spread her wings at some point, didn't he? But he would feel much better if she were experimenting on him and not some honest, young-face foot soldier.

"Alright, Abbila, but be careful," he said softly, backing away. He didn't like being a Rider _and_ a mentor –the latter was much too difficult, especially with one so young and inexperienced as Abbila. He suddenly knew what Brom must have felt every single day.

The girl took a deep breath and closed her eyes (which, as it turned out, might have been a good thing; otherwise, she would have caught the look of fear that crossed over the foot soldier's face when he realized a child would be healing him.) In a firm voice, the girl enunciated clearly, "_Waiseheill_!" The bite wound on the soldier's thigh healed, knitting itself together lazily. Abbila's eyes opened and she looked down at the healed skin, astonished.

The soldier looked thankful and amazed as he turned his gaze to Eragon. "You seem to be equally good at educating as you are at fighting, Rider. I thank you for training her well."

Abbila looked at Eragon, pride shining in her eyes. "Did I do well, master?"

The term made a part of Eragon twinge painfully, reminding him of his lessons with his own masters, Oromis and Brom. Eragon could never hope to be as good as they were, but maybe, just maybe, he could be a fraction of what they were.

"You did well, Abbila. Very well."

She beamed and turned to Briam, who was standing with Saphira and snorting out curls of smoke. Saphira thrummed loudly. _You are doing well, young one, _she said softly. _Now, let us go. Borromeo castle will not come to us!_

…

It had been three days since their arrival to Borromeo castle. Three days since the hero's welcome from Aberon and three days of relative peace. Arya had taken on some of the brunt of Abbila's training. She was teaching Abbila to read, write, and speak in the ancient language, as well as the history of Alagaesia. While the young Rider was being distracted, Eragon sparred with anyone who would go up against him. The palace soldiers had learned early on that they were no match for Eragon, leaving him only Orik and occasionally Arya when she wasn't training the girl.

It was on that third night when Eragon had been out in the crisp, cool night air of the courtyard. He had been attacking an anonymous, imaginary foe when a soft voice rang out from the stone walls.

"The others are inside, eating and making merry. Why do you always have to be so different?"

He turned to the teasing voice and was pleased to see Nasuada. Her dark skin gleamed in the moonlight, making her seem carved from ebony. She wore a white tunic and pair of breeches, something that was oddly fitting for her. She carried a long sword, a small smile on her face.

Eragon also smiled, only shrugging half-heartedly. "Honestly, my Lady," he murmured with an exaggerated bow, "I think it is because I am only useful with a sword in my hand."

She smiled, raising her sword. "Then let us test the theory. Spar with me, my Rider."

Eragon felt his smile slip. "Nasuada, I do not believe-"

"Eragon," she murmured, smile widening and showing her lovely white teeth, "consider this an order from your liege-lord. No dulling spells, no holding back. Simply one leader against her Rider."

"But what if I mistakenly-"

"So long as you do not kill me, Eragon," Nasuada explained patiently, "then there is no harm you can cause me without the means to heal it, correct?"

Eragon sighed, sheathing his sword. "I refuse to fight you with a sharp weapon, my Lady. Too much rests upon both of our shoulders." This seemed to have been an effective way to dissuade her, for she sighed greatly before holding out her blade. "Dull it, then, and let us get on with it."

Eragon did as he was bade before pulling out his own weapon and doing the same to its surface. He felt badly for sparring against her, for he knew how much he must outmatch her. A shadow passed above him and, without a glance, he knew it was Saphira come back from her hunt.

_Do not underestimate her too greatly, little one, _the dragon cooed softly. _I sense great powers within her small arms._

He did not reply, simply raised his blade in a ready position. He watched Nasuada slowly circle him, dark eyes finding his weaknesses. She pushed off of the ground, launching herself at him with a simply strike to the shoulder. He blocked without much effort, feeling disappointment fill him. Was this all he could expect?

But the Varden leader fell back quickly, caught herself, and doubled back to his front. She raised her sword, letting an impressive double-spin arc its way to Eragon's stomach. He stumbled a bit, but the motion was fluid with his Rider gifts. He used sheer force alone to throw her blade out of his way before bringing his sword up and into a close shave with her underarm.

Nasuada circled away from the blade, her long hair, braided into twin plaits down her back, swung madly. She was quick, much more so than a regular human, and her fighting style was like nothing he had ever seen before. It had a slight mix of Orik's strength and Arya's agility, a splash of something undeniably Ajihad in her movements. She smiled coyly at Eragon, raising her blade parallel with her body. "Shall we dance, my Rider?" she teased.

He smiled, feeling as if he had found another opponent in which he could enjoy sparring. Mimicking her movement, he murmured, "If my liege orders a dance, we shall dance."

Before he could say another word, she was at him, swinging her blade around as if it were a part of her that she had mental control over. There was such force behind the blow that he was momentarily stunned. Such a small human had never shown such strength!

He parried and the two pressed close to one another, Eragon's leg slipping rather close between Nasuada's. The two pressed their blades against one another, trying to make the other one back down. But when that didn't work, Nasuada grinned and closed her legs around Eragon's.

Eragon stumbled, wobbling off balance and toppling onto the cobbled ground. He looked up at his liege-lord in shock. "That's cheating!"

She grinned, putting her blade to his neck. "Yes, but cheating on the battlefield would have saved my life and ended yours." She withdrew her sword and offered him a hand, still smiling. "I knew I had no chance of winning against you in a fair fight –my only ammunition was the fact that you've been training and are fatigued, and that you expected me to play by the rules.

"Murtagh will not play by the rules either," she added, smile slipping a bit. "Remember that."

Eragon sighed and took her hand, standing. "Thank you, Nasuada. I will."

She took his hand in hers and they walked back toward the castle kitchens, their joined fingers swinging as if they were children just come in from the noon play. They grabbed a small, secluded table off to the side of the hustle and bustle of human girls making the meals that fed the entire castle. Someone brought them a bottle of wine and some steaming bread, recently brought from the oven. As they ate in relative, amiable silence, Eragon took his time tracing the lines of sleeplessness on Nasuada's face. She looked tired and a bit sad, her smile barely reaching her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Nasuada," he murmured softly, suddenly feeling his hunger fade into an achy throb.

She looked up, a bit startled. "I beg your pardon?"

Eragon lowered his eyes slightly. "I always thought it was I who had lost the most when Murtagh turned against us, but…" Eragon trailed off, noting the pain that flashed across Nasuada's eyes. He wished she could once again be the person who talked with a spirited highness in her voice, who was always smiling. "I never realized you two-"

"There was nothing between us," she murmured softly, smiling ruefully. "I may have felt something, but he… no, he felt nothing for me. You should know that; after all, you were his friend, his confidante. Wouldn't he have told you of something like that?"

Eragon realized that she might have been right. He paused before saying gently, "I don't know… we didn't exactly have the sort of relationship in which we spoke of women. The conversation was more along the lines of survival for the most part."

She smiled dejectedly again before patting his hand. "Don't worry yourself over me, Eragon." She stood, brushing the long braids of her hair over her shoulder. "I'm dealing with his loss –and quite well, if I do say so myself," she added, slightly teasing.

Eragon smiled, wishing he could say something to make her feel better. Before she could leave, he grabbed her hand. "I'm here for you, if you ever need me."

Nasuada looked overcome with emotion as she nodded. She gently removed herself from his grasp and quickly fled from sight.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

**Suitor**

* * *

Eragon had been sitting in his room, reading a scroll on alchemy that the thrilled King Orin had passed along to him. The King had promised Eragon to quiz him tomorrow morning to see what he learned from the text. Thus far, Eragon might as well have been reading dwarvan. None of it made any logical sense to Eragon.

As he puzzled over the scroll, he felt someone enter his mind. Before he could throw up his barriers, a calm, cool voice resonated within his brain. _Eragon… meet me in the courtyard in five minutes. _

Arya.

Eragon began to ask why, but she had withdrawn from his mind and he could not reach her. Peculiar action, especially from one such as Arya. Why was she calling to him so late in the night? And why were they to meet in the courtyard?

He stood and pulled on his boots, wasting no time with fixing his slightly rumpled appearance. He was out of his regal room and down the cold stone hallways without so much as a sound.

He found Arya, as she had said, in the courtyard. She was leaning against a majestic oak –how it was able to grow in such hot, dry days and cold nights Eragon could not fathom. He quietly and slowly approached her; her long dark hair was pulled into a long braid down her back. She wore black breeches and a sleeveless tunic of the darkest green Eragon had laid eyes upon. Her small, well-defined arms crossed over her chest, as if she had been waiting for longer than the allotted five minutes.

He cleared his throat politely, letting her know he had arrived, before stepping closer to the tree and her. "Arya Svit-kona, why-"

Her eyes opened, slowly and catlike, making Eragon lose his train of thought. She pushed off of the tree, sure footed as she paced a circle around him. "It's been a while since I was able to run, without thought. It's been even longer since I've had a running partner who could keep up with me."

Eragon paused, slightly confused until he saw that slight gleam in her emerald eyes. She smiled slightly; it was only a small twitch of her lips but a smile nonetheless. Without another word she turned and raced toward the stone wall, leaping gracefully into the air and grabbing handholds, small crevices in the bricks, and vaulting herself over the wall. Eragon was momentarily shocked by this outright display of dexterity, even though he knew he shouldn't be. He could, possibly, make such a feat if he tried. Yet Eragon had a small problem –his humors were in such a state as to whisper harsh condemnations for even _thinking_ he could be as limber, as slight and perfect as an elf.

Eragon followed Arya over the wall, albeit much slower and painfully careful. At the top he flipped over the side of the wall, landing on his feet in the shifting sand. Arya was retying her braid before looping it into a knot at the back of her head, keeping it fasted and free from her face. Her high cheekbones were even more accented while bared to the moonlight. She turned those cat eyes onto Eragon and murmured, "Don't speak… simply run." And without so much as a breath, she was off.

Eragon found that running after weeks on horseback and sitting around campfires was almost too enjoyable to bear. The freedom of his limbs, stronger than he had really ever noticed, tearing through the ever-moving sand was close to bliss. Feeling Arya's aura beside him, also reveling in the feeling of the cool desert night air soothing her cheeks, was equally amazing.

Eragon had lost track of time when the pair finally slowed. A looming shape, made visible only due to Eragon's night vision, swam forward. As they drew nearer to it, Eragon noticed it was a large, craggy structure made entirely out of sandstone. Identical shapes dotted the desert's vast expanse, but this one seemed to have been home to large animals at one point.

Arya slowed before reached up to one of the craggy openings. She pulled herself onto the tiny ledge and into one of the cave-like spaces, darkened past the point of vision to human eyes. She reached down, as if to help him up, but he imitated her action and hoisted himself into the space beside her.

The mouth of the cave was small, allowing only a sparse breadth of space between their bodies. Eragon felt his heartbeat in his throat, threatening to choke him. It was then that he dared to speak. "Why did you bring me out here, Arya?"

She was silent for a moment, leaning against the sandstone wall. Finally she began, her voice halting and soft. "I have not loved for… well, for quite a long time. Since Faolin, I have sealed my heart off, not allowing anyone to even think of entering. But then you came along." Her dark eyes turned to look at him and Eragon felt his heartbeat speed up. "I tried to push you away. I tried everything within my power. But you simply refused to go. You refused to let your affections die –whether because of your sense of pride or something less severe and more delicate, I shall never know. But what I do know," she added, her voice hesitating over the words, "is that you have shown me more devotion than I have seen in many years. Even though such things are frowned upon in my society –being wooed over by a child, succumbing to what my heart urges opposed to the cries of reason- I cannot hide from them any longer."

Eragon realized he had been sucking in his breath, afraid that she had brought him here to tell him she would no longer be beside him, that she would leave him for her mother's side once the elves arrived. But what was she saying now? That she felt something for him? That his reckless abandon of the unspoken rules were finally paying off? He was still unsure, still wavering over what he should do.

Arya's eyes turned to him again. "I cannot help it, Eragon," she murmured, voice breaking with the first true emotion he'd ever heard from her since their times before Ellesmera –sorrow. "I cannot turn away from you, I cannot keep brushing you aside. It pains me to go against my mother and culture, but it pains me more to see you wasting away and dwelling on the memory of my smile." She shook her head. "Eragon… tomorrow, when my mother comes… I shall tell her my decision. If you still feel for me what you've claimed in the past, then I shall allow myself to return your feelings. But only partially, for I shall not give myself to you fully -not until you are grown or until the Varden is successful in their mission."

Eragon felt horribly confused yet something inside of him swelled with her words. He saw her now as a saddened princess, what she had been born into the world as; she was beautiful and drowning in inner turmoil, with a heart troubled beyond anything he had previously known.

He noticed how his silence was affecting her; she had turned her head face away from him, eyes rising to the dark, star-dotted sky. "Arya Svit-kona-"

"Eragon," she murmured, voice emotionless once again. "Do not address me formally. I will stand no more of it."

He smiled slightly, reaching out to touch a strand of hair that had fallen from her braided bun. She turned, eyes meeting his. There was a questioning in them, hidden behind her mask of calm detachment. "Then I shall call you simply Arya," he murmured gently, hand slipping from her hair to rest at the nook between her shoulder and neck. "Although for all of the things I feel for you, your name alone seems so disrespectful."

She leaned forward, slowly and unsurely. He was suddenly overcome with worry; he had little experience with women. All he had learned had been from brief encounters during his youth and his run-in with the sorceress Trianna. He leaned in and met her lips with his, softly and momentarily, uncertainty seeming to choke the air from his lungs.

Eragon pulled away, embarrassed. He knew that Arya could sense what was troubling him so much, and it simply reinforced their age and experience differences. "Arya, forgive me-" he began softly, but she shook he head.

"Hush, Eragon," she whispered, leaning in closer to him. "I will teach you." Her eyelids slid closed and her lips, so soft and sweet, let his briefly, teasingly brushing against his before being removed. He began to respond to the kisses, to lean into her, to part his lips and receive them. Arya's lips lingered longer, applying pressure and making the small weight in the pit of Eragon's stomach burst into flames.

Arya's tongue, a brief surprise to Eragon, gently worked to part his lips further before worming its way inside. Her tongue brushed his, gentle at first, becoming slightly more demanding. Eragon felt himself fall into the rhythm of it all; his lips moved in time with hers now, his hands no longer fumbling but caressing over her cheek, down her neck and back. His fingers reached for her hair, pulling the silken threads from their captivity in their bun, slowly unraveling the thick braid. Dark hair spilled into his hands, making his breath catch.

Arya finally pulled away, breath coming out faster than usual. She turned her eyes skyward, murmuring softly, "We should go back… the dawn will come in an hour… and you need some time to prepare for my mother's arrival." Her arms, still draped elegantly around him, began to unfurl and retreat from him. Eragon grabbed her hand though, startling her enough to look at him queerly.

"Please," he began softly. "Can we stay like this for a little while longer?"

Arya hesitated, glancing outside again. It seemed darker than before. She acquiesced to his proposal, however, lowering herself to lie against his chest, head tucked just under his chin. He toyed with her hair, eyes never leaving the darkness outside. He could have fallen into a doze like that; with his back against the hard sandstone, feeling the warmth of his love's body against him. An hour later, though, Arya stirred. The dawn was coming on and it was time to return to Borromeo castle.

…

Just as Eragon pulled himself into his room, the first rays of dawn broke over the castle. He felt refreshed just by looking at them. Eragon washed his face and pulled out a nice pair of doeskin trousers, along with a crimson tunic given to him by Arya's mother. Soft boots finished the outfit that Eragon would meet Arya's mother in. He dressed quickly, wetting his slightly unruly waves of hair and using a spell to safely shave the stubble from his chin away.

Saphira chose that moment to murmur her opinions of last night in his mind. _I'm surprised she's finally given in to your persistence. _There was something like smugness in her voice.

Eragon felt a sudden sense of horror fill him. He hadn't blocked himself at all –Saphira had felt and known everything Eragon had.

_Oh don't be so appalled, little one, _she teased. _After all, I've known your thoughts since you've first met the elf. Don't you think I pieced together how strong you felt, even before you did? In any event, that doesn't matter. Arya and her mother are here in the garden. Arya says her mother wishes to speak with you._

Eragon took a deep breath. This was the moment that could end or strengthen their relationship. Who knew meeting the parents could be so difficult, especially the second time around? _Is she upset?_

_I cannot say, little one. Arya seemed cordial when she spoke to me, and she said nothing of her mother being upset._

Eragon nodded to himself. _Pass along the word that I will be down momentarily. _He checked himself over in the mirror, noting how his appearance had changed since he last saw the queen of Ellesmera. He was thinner, more muscled, and his face was leaner, accenting the elven-like cheekbones. He could truly pass as one of the Queen's own.

He made his way through the courtyard and into the garden. There were flowers of every kind imaginable blooming there. He picked a small bundle of white roses for the queen and a single morning glory of a beautiful indigo. It was hardly the perfect bloom that Faolin had made her, but she would no doubt see the reference to her favorite flower.

He spotted his dark elf standing amid the hyacinths and chrysanthemums. Her hair was falling to her waist, curled and crowned in pale blooms for the occasion. She wore a flowing white dress embroidered in gold that accented her green eyes. Her mother, as usual, was elegantly dressed –this time in deep plums and gold.

Islanzadi noticed him first and smiled, some hidden emotion lurking behind her eyes. Eragon drew forward, pressing his first two fingers to his lips. "Atra esterni ono thelduin," he murmured.

Islanzadi mimicked the movement, returning, "Atra du evarinya ono varda."

Eragon stood and presented her the small bouquet. "For the Lady of Ellesmera, please accept these humble tokens of my never-ending appreciation and adoration."

Islanzadi smiled, taking the bouquet and sniffing them delicately. "They are lovely Eragon. Thank you. I am pleased by these, for a true Rider must know not only battles, but also kindness and a reverence of nature."

Eragon accepted the gracious compliment with a small bow. "And for the Princess," he added, this time bowing to Arya and presenting her the morning glory. Something passed through her face, a ghost of a memory perhaps, as she looked down at it. "Forgive me for it not having the proper coloring, my Princess."

"Do not dwell on it, Eragon," she murmured, smiling softly as she took the flower. "It is the perfect color."

As Eragon stood, Islanzadi sighed. "Well, well, such informalities from a Princess? But, let us not keep up these pretenses any longer. I wish to be honest with you Eragon. You are young… you are yet a child… when Arya spoke of the attentions you have been paying one another, I was worried.

"Relations between Riders and Elves have occurred, and they have ended more or less with the elves surpassing the Riders. Not because of age, but because of the Rider being killed in battle, losing his dragon and dying of grief, or simply being killed by a jealous elf. I worry for not only my daughter's well being, but also yours. Yet," she sighed deeply, "I know that no one can come between two young lovers; especially not two as strong headed as you two."

Eragon's eyes widened, uncharacteristically surprised. "You mean… you mean to say that you will stand by our decision?"

Islanzadi sighed gently, a sad smile on her face. "Yes… because I know firsthand what such a passion is like." She paused, letting the curiosity of Eragon's mind pique before she murmured, "Your storyteller Brom was my one and only true love."

Eragon's mouth dropped open but he quickly tried to regain his composure. "I… Forgive me, I-"

Islanzadi patted his shoulder, smiling in a friendly manner. "That is why he bore such a ring as he did from me. That is why you have never met my lover… he had left the forests long before you came." She took a deep breath and murmured, "I must go speak with the King now. I will see the both of you at dinner, I presume?"

"Of course, Mother," Arya murmured softly. Eragon also mumbled his assent.

"Good. Oh, and Eragon, bring your charge to see me at some point. I am anxious to meet this girl."

Eragon nodded, even though his mind was reeling, and touching his lips with his two fingers. "Of course."

…

Eragon watched as Abbila, dressed in a finely woven dress of a palest mauve, said her greetings to the Elven Queen, pressing her tiny fingers to her lips and murmuring the words she had memorized earlier that day. Islanzadi returned the gestures, smiling secretively all the while.

The Dining Hall was decked out in the finest displays of silken black and red banners, the colors of Borromeo. King Orrin was announced in and everyone lining the long table stood, rising their glasses in salute. Eragon caught sight of Nasuada, her hair plated into a bun atop of her head, standing regally across from Islanzadi at the head of the table. Arya, on her mother's right, glanced over at Eragon, something like tension making her look stiff. She managed a small smile for him before her eyes went back to Orrin.

"Please, sit, sit," Orrin proclaimed warmly. "You are all guests of the highest caliber, and friends. I am honored to have the Elves on our side after so long with no contact. It seems Lady Luck is on our side, for we have two of the three dragons blessed until the Varden. Tonight, let us feast. Tomorrow we shall prepare." He raised his glass and everyone followed suit. "To Lady Nasuada of the Varden, for having the strength to stand up to the Empire. To Queen Islanzadi and her lovely daughter; one of whom answered our call of need, the other who had stood beside the Varden for years. To the Riders, Eragon and Abbila; need I explain why?" he added, humor entering his voice as he glanced down the table at Eragon and Abbila.

"But above all," Orrin finished in a soft voice, filled with meaning. "Above all, to us. To the resistance!"

An echo of 'to the resistance' swept through the room and Eragon felt something like relief sweep through his body. He was part of a unit, of a body working toward one singular goal. He took a sip of the wine in his goblet, well aware that it was some of the last stock left in the cellars. The state of Borromeo was the same as any other place –dwindling down to nothingness.

Orrin seemed to notice his absent look, for the ruler called out, "Come sit up here with us, Eragon! Bring the young one, as well. Lady Islanzadi says you have much to tell us all." Eragon hesitated, casting a confused glance to the Queen and her daughter; Islanzadi had that mysterious smile still on her lips, while Arya seemed to be holding her breath.

Two elves, which had sat further up at the table, stood and bowed respectfully. "If the Riders wish," one of them intoned, jewel eyes catching the candlelight, "we shall switch our seating arrangements."

Orrin smiled, pleased. "That is quite kind. My thanks."

Eragon stood, slowly, as did Abbila. He didn't know what was in store for him, but he had a feeling it was not very good. The paling of Arya's healthily flushed face was evident. He thanked the elves graciously before taking his seat, directly across from Arya and to Nasuada's left.

"As I was saying," Islanzadi murmured, her voice carefully sweet and airy, "my daughter has seemed to have chosen a new consort."

"Oh?" Nasuada asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. Fifteen servants were rushing the food in and onto the table. All of the dishes were prepared with the elven diet in mind. Only vegetables and greens had been made, which seemed to take the elves by delighted surprise. "And who might this mystery man be?" she asked, turning her attentions to Arya.

Eragon was mortified, as was Arya by the look on her face. She, though, was able to mask it rather well by blotting at her lip with her napkin. "Such a strange topic to have at the dinner table. Perhaps we might speak of something more pressing or urgent?"

"Nay," Orrin laughed, not seeming to notice the way Arya's fingers were trembling as they help the napkin. "Love is by far the most important topic here! You must tell us; your mother has piqued our imaginations."

Arya gazed down at the food before her, arranged delicately to look like a rose, before her gaze met Eragon's. _There is no way to avoid it, _she murmured to him mentally.

Eragon sighed, glancing at his own plate. _If you are embarrassed or do not wish it, I release you from our ties. Last night can be well enough hidden. None saw us leave._

Arya's gaze hardened at the prospect and a slight trickle of angry defiance seemed to well within her. She raised her eyes to meet Orrin's, then Nasuada's, her mother's and finally Abbila, who looked so curious she might faint. "My mother had stood behind my decision to accept the advances of a certain suitor..." She glanced over at Eragon, continuing, "Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of the Varden."


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**The Silver Ring**

* * *

Silent shock rippled up and down the table, almost as if it had been a visible slap in the face to everyone present. Orrin spoke first, calling out what a wonderful joining, although quite unexpected, it would be. Nasuada was looking ill, the hollows of her cheeks draining of color. She looked at Eragon with something much like reproach before turning to drain her wineglass.

Abbila fainted.

This last reaction caused an instant flurry of movement. Three elves and two humans practically bolted from their seats, catching her before she could knock her head painfully against any sort of object; be it the floor or one of the many chairs lining the walls for décor. Eragon started, standing as well, only to be tugged back into his seat by Nasuada. Her eyes held the glow of hurt but she spoke steadily. "Eragon, the others will take care of her. You are a guest of honor, and as such you must stay." Even as she spoke, the elves were carrying her effortlessly away, no doubt to Angela's little hovel on the third floor.

The rest of the dinner was spent in relative silence. Orrin and Islanzadi, the only two who didn't seem to have trouble with the coupling, laughed and told stories. Nasuada refused to speak at all, only casting furtive glares over at Eragon. He knew the reason –she was his liege lord, and as such she would be blamed or praised for his every action. Doing this behind her back, even though it was a personal matter, was not a good sign of their bond.

Arya spoke very little, only giving her opinion when prompted by her mother. She was careful to not meet Eragon's eyes as she deflected every small, impersonal jibe about accepting such a young suitor.

The dinner from Hell finally ended after another hour and a half of sheer torture. But, to Eragon's utter loathing, Orrin was hardly finished with them.

"The people of Aberon will be holding festivals every evening for the next fortnight –welcoming the cool nights that relieve us from the scorching days. It is really just an excuse to drink and make merry, but it is a quite lively affair. I am not known to miss it," he added, "and I think it might boost the moral if the Varden leader and the Queen and Princess of Ellesmera join me… and we can hardly forget the Rider. News of your betrothal will certainly cause a stir!" he furthered his jibe with a laugh.

Arya's cheeks deepened in color. "You misunderstand, King Orrin. We elves do not betroth, nor do we marry. Eragon and I are simply…bound together by feelings, not words, laws, rings or whatever else humans use."

Orrin was hardly put out by this and instead rebutted with an offhanded comment about the difference in customs from one race to another. Eragon wasn't fool enough to try and decipher Orrin's meanings –after all, one did not keep his sanity for long if one tried to stay on the same wavelength as the King of Surda.

Reluctantly, the Rider found himself forced into going along with the group. He tried to get out of it with a well placed, "I should really look in on my charge to see how she's faring."

Orrin, curse him to every level of Hell, blinked owlishly before saying, "Oh, yes, do! She needs to come along, as well!"

And thus, Eragon was stuck with having to go check in on Abbila while the others changed clothing for a celebration on the streets. She was sitting on the small bed in her room, biting her lower lip and looking out of the opened window. The door was wide open and so Eragon stepped inside, knocking softly on the doorframe to alert her of his arrival.

Abbila turned quickly, eyes wide. A blush rose on her cheeks. "Oh… Eragon." She looked uncomfortable, just as she had when he had cornered her into telling him about how Briam's scales had rubbed her thighs raw. He then realized that that was not such a long time ago… so why did it seem like a century?

"How is your head?" he asked softly.

Her flush deepened. "F-fine… I'm sorry, it was just such a shock to hear that you and… well… you know."

He laughed humorlessly. "Aye, I know…" He stood then, going to the trunk at the foot of her bed. It had been filled with clothing that Orrin's best tailor had made for her. He pulled out a pale, shimmering summer dress, placing it in her lap. "We're going to the Aberon festival. Get dressed and meet us down in the foyer."

"But-" she began, eyes wide.

"Do not argue," he interrupted, heading for the door. "If I am being made to endure Orrin for another four hours, you shall suffer through it, too," he said, teasingly, and offered her a smile. Her blush returned and she looked down at the clothing in her lap.

"Alright," she murmured. "I'll come."

"That's my girl," he said amiably before shutting the door, leaving her to change in privacy.

…

The streets were alive with bustle and chatter. It was as bright as midday, even though the sun had sunk hours ago; the light from hundreds of torches lit up the sky. The calm night air brushed against the party of six's skin, a welcome relief to the stuffy castle.

Orrin was at the head of the procession, walking close to Nasuada and Islanzadi, pointing out certain people or items that he found interesting. Next was Arya, who walked just behind the rulers. Eragon trailed behind her, still unused to being able to speak with her freely without guarding his feelings. After all, it hadn't even been twenty-four hours since their joining –the newness of it still had not worn off.

Abbila was following behind Eragon, much too quiet and reserved. She stopped to look at the vendors' wares once or twice, but never seemed to fall behind.

It was then, while Eragon was beginning to feel like this entire affair was thought up in order to drive him slowly mad, when he noticed Arya doing something peculiar. She had wandered off of the main path, into the mouth of an alleyway. It was blockaded by a stand selling jewelry, which she pretended to view with a critical eye. Eragon knew, however, that it wasn't the jewelry that made her change directions.

He casually came up beside her, glancing down at the finely crafted silver and gold necklaces. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, picking up a ring made from a thin sheet of silver; it was coiled into the shape of a vine with leaves branching off of it.

She leaned closer to him, appearing as if she was surveying the ring, as well. "I cannot take this much longer, Eragon," she murmured, reaching out to touch the cool metal of the ring. "That damnable man may be powerful and a good ally, but he is vexing. I can hardly carry on a conversation with him without getting irate."

Eragon smiled at that. "I am feeling the same way… what do you think of this ring?" he asked finally, rubbing his thumb against the barb-like points of the leaf-tips. It was finely crafted and the silver was the best quality he'd ever laid eyes on. Every tiny detail was etched painstakingly into the silver.

"It's a lovely object," she admitted, taking the ring from his fingers to hold it up to the flickering candlelight. On the inside of the band, so small and discreet, was the workman's name. Kalev.

Eragon looked at the merchant, who was nearly ecstatic of having such attention placed on his ring. Arya had tied her hair back into an artistically messy bun, displaying her delicate points of ears. No doubt the craftsman Kalev thought them both Elven royalty, seeing as Eragon's own ears had been pointed from his gift from the dragon god. It helped that they had been traveling with the King Orrin.

Eragon took the ring from her, glanced over it again, before smiling. "How much for this ring, sir?" he asked pleasantly. Arya's eyes widened.

"Eragon, what do you think you are-"

She was silenced as the timid man named his price –which was sufficiently lower than the real value, Eragon could tell. Eragon took some gold coins from the pouch at his hip, handing them to the man –it was a full five gold more than what the man had claimed.

"Keep the rest," he said softly. "Buy something nice for you wife," he added, noticing the plain, band on his left ring finger.

He took his companion's elbow, expecting her to pull out of his grasp. She did, but only to take his hand in hers. "Do not lead me like a pack animal, Eragon," she whispered softly. "Just walk with me." They strolled close together; Eragon looking for the others, Arya trying to puzzle out why he had bought the ring.

Finally, the two caught up to the others. They had stopped at a tavern whose outdoor seating made a perfect place to sit and bask in the cool air. Islanzadi and Abbila were sipping wine while Nasuada and Orrin talked over tankards of ale. Abbila noticed the pair first and blushed slightly at the sight of them so close. She busied herself with her wine while they came to sit down at the table.

"Ah, so the lovely couple finally join up," Orrin teased. "Eragon, ale? Arya?"

"No, but thank you," Eragon said with a small smile. "I tend to get drunk much too easily, and supposedly it's not a pretty sight." Arya also declined, but supplied no reason behind it. The two sat quietly, distressing internally through the entire affair –all because Orrin kept returning to the topic of their sudden and unbelievable arrangement. Nasuada looked irritated, and Abbila was looking faint again. Islanzadi, somehow, gracefully took it all in stride. Maybe she wasn't even listening, Eragon mused.

Finally, Eragon could take no more of it. He stood, saying softly, "Bless you for reminding me, Orrin, I actually need to go buy a few things. I'm sure that someone around here is selling good weapons for a reasonable price."

Orrin blinked comically. "Weapons?" He could tell Orrin was mentally wondering what he had said that reminded Eragon of weapons.

Arya stood, eyes widening. "Oh, that's right. Yes, our weapons were damaged during the last battle. Abbila, your sword needs sharpening, does it not?" she added.

The girl looked confused. "I…no, I don't-"

"Of course it does," Eragon interrupted, pulling Abbila up. "We will be forced leave you three here, then. Oh, and feel free to go back to the castle without us –we may be a while yet."

"Mother, you know how I am with weapons," Arya added dismissively. "I could browse all night."

Islanzadi smiled knowingly. "Oh, I know," she murmured with a small wink. She turned to Orrin, saying rather spontaneously, "I was wondering, Orrin, about those flowers in the garden –are they grown naturally with fertilizer, magic, or some sort of chemical?"

Eragon smiled. Bless her; the woman was covering their escape.

…

The three wandered the crowded marketplace streets, which seemed much more cheerful now that Orrin wasn't there. Abbila had bought a nice necklace for herself, one with an emerald embedded into it. She prided over how it gleamed just like Briam's scales and was adamant about showing the dragon.

Arya sifted through the flowers a woman was peddling, but seemed upset at the selections –all roses. Eragon knew she wasn't very fond of roses, and so he went to a different merchant selling random wears. He found a beautiful sapphire dyed moonflower made from satin. He discreetly slipped it into her hand as he passed by her to glance at some of the necklace chains a nearby merchant was marketing.

He did not see her reaction, did not know what it would be; what he did know was that his heart was beating loudly and his hands were trembling at the thought of her not liking the small token. A moonflower was a far cry from a morning glory, her favorite flower. Sapphire was hardly the deep, nearly black purple that she adored above all else. He knew he was overreacting, but he wanted so much to make her _happy_.

He forced himself to calm, picking up a thin chain made of fine grade silver. He bought it without thought, without caring that it was expensive and eliminated most of the coins in his money pouch.

He turned around to find Arya standing there, the sapphire bloom tucked behind one ear. She had a faint smile on her face, her arms crossed over her chest. "Did you really think I wouldn't like it, Eragon?" she asked softly, as if having sensed his thoughts. She probably had, he realized with a pang. He hadn't even bothered to block his emotions.

He forced a smile. "What can I say? I still can't get over the feeling that you'll swat my hand away like a naughty child." He nonchalantly began to walk toward her, realizing that she wasn't exactly tall –or at least, not physically imposing. In fact, he was a hair's width taller than she was. Perhaps he'd grown.

Arya chuckled, leaning over at meeting his lips briefly. "Come on, then, Rider. Let's get your young charge back to the castle."

…

"Let me walk you to your room," Eragon offered Arya once Abbila was safely tucked away into her own bed.

"Oh, I'm not going to my room," she murmured, flexing her fingers as if they were sore. "I normally go to the garden to read and meditate." She paused for a moment before adding, "Would you like to come along?"

Eragon jumped at the opportunity for more time with her. He followed her into the garden, darkened beyond recognition but set aglow eerily by the moon. Arya sat on a stone bench; Eragon, standing behind her, took Arya's hair from its binds and combed it tenderly with his fingers while she read him stories. First was the tale of Gwroda, a dwarf who had fallen in love with an Elven prince and swore to ensnare him, no matter what the cost. The kingdom of the dwarves ended up falling and the Elven prince killed Gwroda for being a foolish girl.

It was not the sort of story Eragon felt like hearing, and Arya seemed to sense that. She then chose a different story; this one about a sly cat who tricked a mouse into falling in love with its reflection in order to eat it. But then the cat became enamored with the mouse's reflection, as well, and then entire plan unraveled.

At the end of the tale, Eragon came to sit beside her. Arya placed the book on her stomach, lying down lengthwise on the bench and closing her eyes as if to rest them. Her head was on his thigh, long torrents of silken hair falling around her throat and his lap.

It was then that Eragon remembered the items he had in his change pouch. Without disturbing Arya, he managed to pull the chain and ring from within his purse. He slid the small ring onto the chain before securing it around Arya's neck. Her eyes opened in surprise, hand rising to feel what it was.

A slow smile came to her lips and she glanced over at him and murmured, "You needn't have bought me such extravagancies, Eragon. That's not what courting is about."

"I know," he murmured with a small smile. "But it reminded me of you. The leaves are like Ellesmera, so your home might always be with you. The silver ring is a reminder of what you saved me from… do you remember the Twins? They asked me to take the essence of silver from within their ring? Something they couldn't even do… but you could."

Arya's smile faltered a bit as he pushed herself up onto an elbow; her eyes had become less amused and more intense as she looked at him. She seemed to be concentrating on something within his gaze. Finally she leaned toward him, lips brushing his only faintly as she whispered, "Somehow you make me feel so much better about myself; as if what I've done in the past is worthwhile. How do you do this to me, Eragon?"

Eragon smiled, returning the soft brush of lips. "That is simple," he murmured gently. "I show you yourself, only reflected in my eyes."

He pulled her up gently, wrapping his arms around her. Her cheek resting on his chest, she finally murmured, "Do you remember the fairth you made in Ellesmera?"

Eragon shuddered slightly at the recollection. Arya had been so furious when she'd seen it. "Yes."

Arya was silent for a time before she continued. "I wish I hadn't ruined it."

* * *

Author's Note:

Review, s'il vous plait.

Love love,

Eternity


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

**The Leaving**

* * *

Eragon felt something inside of him die a little when he walked through the throng of people surrounding the main hallway. He knew not what to say; these people stood by, watching him with mixtures of horror and pride. What could he possibly do to cheer these solemn faces and soothe his own anxieties?

Nasuada was the first to catch his eye; she wore the dark plum of royalty and a black headdress of bereavement; it was as if she were already mourning his oncoming death.

_Stop,_ Eragon thought viciously to himself as he brought himself to a halt at Nasuada's side. _Stop acting as if this is a death mission._ "My Lady," he murmured, bowing slightly to kiss the dark knuckles of her left hand.

She smiled at him, the hardened worry in her face seeming to melt. "Your safety is more important to me than all of the intelligence work in the world. If this spying mission ever endangers your life, you abort. Swear to me?" she asked, voice suddenly fierce.

Eragon nodded for her sake, yet he knew the truth. If he were cornered, he would fight back. It may be foolish, but it was all Eragon knew. He had not been raised to run from anything –not wild beasts in the Spine nor enemies in battle. "I swear it."

Next to her was Orrin. The ruler patted Eragon's shoulder gently with a large smile plastered on his face. "Good luck, my boy. May the Gods watch over you."

Eragon attempted not to flinch away from the obtrusive hand, instead forcing a very weak smile and murmuring, "I will do all that is in my power to lead us to victory." He quickly bowed to the ruler and moved down the line, finally ending up at Islanzadi. The woman's faint, gentile smile quirked as he neared.

"Eragon Shadeslayer," she hummed, a note of affection in her otherwise emotionless voice. "Your bravery and brazen foolishness in taking up such a task prove to me that you should have been born elf," she murmured, almost teasingly. She placed her first fingers to her lips as a silent goodbye, which Eragon wordlessly mimicked.

He began to turn for the door when a figure cloaked in black caught his eye. The black dress clung to her thin, shapely upper half and cascaded around the toned legs. A black veil hid her face from him, yet Eragon knew that it was his Arya hidden behind the shroud.

He approached her without a word, simply stood before her with a somber, knowing look on his face. She was dressed as if about to attend a funeral. He caught a faint glimmer of her green eyes behind the veil and took in a deep breath.

_Be safe, _Arya murmured gently in his mind. Her mental presence was much softer than the one he faced. He could feel her fears and concerns, whereas the outer Arya was a completely emotionless blank.

Eragon felt the beginnings of guilt eating at his gut. He knew that he would not run if ambushed. He would rather die than run from a fight.

_Eragon, _Saphira suddenly thrummed through his mind, _you cannot think like that! You must face Galbatorix –you and I alone. Who would end this tyranny if not for us? Murtagh has fallen from us and Abbila is hardly the fighter you are. She has too much to learn in too little time. You must learn to cut your losses, just as Brom had taught you._

Eragon flinched a bit, trying to mask it by lowering himself to one knee. He took one of her artistic pale hands in his, kissing the knuckles, before sliding something over her hand. One of the tiny daisy chains they had braided earlier within the garden hung from her wrist, the yellow and green a sort of symbol for hope. _I will keep myself from harm as much as possible and await the moment that you and your troops join me._

Arya nodded faintly before gently removing her hand from Eragon's grip. "Go," she whispered, voice muffled by the fabric hanging before her face. "We will join you as soon as we can."

Eragon hesitated, wanting so much to take her into his arms and hold her to him. He could not leave her; not like this. Not so formally, so coldly. It was too much like a final goodbye; a farewell shared by simple acquaintances, not lovers. The thought made a small piece of Eragon shudder as he turned from the scene and made his way into the front courtyard.

Saphira lay out in the sun, thrumming gently as Roran stroked a hand over her sun-warmed scales. Eragon could hear footsteps behind him but refused to turn. Some of the less refined had probably followed him outside in curiosity. No noble of good breeding would do such a thing. Whoever it was, however, caught Roran's attention enough that he stooped to a quick bow.

Eragon turned, confused, to see Arya walking swiftly toward him. Her black veil had been shoved back over the twin plaits of dark hair spiraling down her back, leaving her face bare and suddenly vulnerable.

Eragon drew her into his arms, feeling her body mold against his as she buried her face into his shoulder. "You cannot die –I will not allow it. Do you understand?" she demanded in the ancient language, her voice harsh yet, at the same time, lost.

Eragon smiled gently, running a hand over her back. "Of course, Arya Svit-kona."

She pulled back from him, seeming to gain an ounce of composure. She reached for the veil, only stopping herself from placing it on her face when she caught Eragon's short shake of head.

"Do not cover yourself for my sake," Eragon returned, prompted to speak by her questioning glance. "I do not want any more of a reminder that this may be our last time together… for a while," he added, not wanting to admit that he, too, was worried for his life. "Two weeks is a long while to be apart."

Arya nodded faintly before crossing her arms just under her chest. "Be careful," she repeated her previous order. She placed two fingers to her lips, saying her final goodbye. Eragon did the same, but then closed the space between them and met her lips with his.

Arya pulled back after a few brief moments, whispering, "May the stars watch over you," before turning back to castle.

Eragon watched her depart, something inside of him seeming to break apart with every step she took. Once her black-encased body disappeared from view, he turned to his cousin. "Are you ready?"

Roran nodded, a faint glimmer of gloom in his eyes. "I am here, Eragon. That does not mean, however, that I am ready… or that I will ever be ready to die."

Eragon's first thought was to argue that they would not die; it was a chore to get the words from his throat however. Instead he whispered, "Go back to Katrina, Roran. You need not have any part in this."

Roran's eyes were smoldering with something different now; they shone with anger. "Neither do you! It's not your duty to fight someone else's war! You had no part in this, and neither did I –not until our town was burned to the ground. So what if Saphira hatched for you? So what if the elven Fire dragon accepted you? So what if you look so alien to human features that every time I see you I think I am speaking to an elf? So what?" he added softly, anger fading and being replaced by sadness again. "What makes us so different? And do not say that it is because I have a wife, for you and Arya share a bond just as close."

Eragon opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when he saw the look in Roran's eyes. He would not be backing down from this task, no matter what. Eragon sighed, murmuring, "We must go now and make haste. It will not do to arrive just short of night and be spotted."

"Of course," Roran replied easily, hoisting himself onto Saphira's back without another complaint.

…

Eragon could tell that Saphira was overjoyed to be in the air again. Their mental link was filled with her sharp senses and excitement as the sense of being swept up in the air currents overrode them. Seeming to have forgotten herself, she let out a loud trumpet of delight, scaring many larger beasts roaming the deserts below.

Her excitement, Eragon found, was infectious. He was smiling before he could stop himself, reveling in the powerful muscles beneath him and the freshness of the air. He wondered if his cousin was enjoying it as much as they were. He cast a conspicuous glance over his shoulder, finding Roran to be pale and a bit shaky but otherwise whole.

Eragon offered him a smile, which Roran shakily returned, before he turned back to look at the scenery whipping by beneath them. _I believe what brings us so much joy is causing my cousin discomfort, _he said with a carefree lilt to his voice.

Saphira chuckled, the sound low and throaty. _Ah, yes. Your poor cousin seems to be more comfortable with his feet on solid ground. I wonder why? You two grew up in the same environment; perhaps heredity does have a large part in whom we become._

Eragon flinched slightly at the thought. Though said offhandedly and without meaning to offend, Saphira had brought up his true father. Eragon was the son of a killer, a man who had no qualms with killing anyone and everyone who dared to stand in his way.

_Oh little one, _Saphira thrummed sadly, _I did not mean it like that! Truly, I-_

_I know, Saphira, _Eragon interrupted, his voice soft and reassuring; a shock even to himself. _Believe me, I know._


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

_The Dark Prince and the Varden  
_

_Saphira, you know that you cannot take a landing such as that._

_Do not underestimate me, Eragon! _Her voice berated him with the tone of an upset, yet determined, child. Her massive wings flapped with great heaves as she soared around the rocky cliffs. Her head was streamlined with her body, making the likeness of a well-pulled arrow shooting from the notched bow.

The simile made Eragon wince as he cast another wary glance toward the silent camp not but half a mile away. If anyone stirred in that Empire encampment, if anyone strolled casually out to relieve their bladders, then they would spot the massive dragon. _Saphira, please, _Eragon begged quickly, worry seeping into his voice. _Please decide what you wish to do and make it quick!_

_I must land on the peaks, _she explained with painstaking patience, still circling the spire of the clustered mountains. _We need to have a good lookout and far enough away. This is the only option._

_No, _Eragon argued, now scared for her health. The sharp rocks of the cliffs could cut holes into the underside of her belly without any trouble; the random crags could snag her wing or her talons could get caught in a nook. It was much too dangerous for her. _Land on the ground below the other side of the mountain. Tomorrow, after we have rested, Roran and I shall climb up and observe. You need not endanger yourself needlessly-_

_I will _not _be separated from you again, _were her harsh, final words. With that she dove into a sudden, unexpected spiral toward the cliffs. Eragon heard Roran let out a gasp of surprise before the sound was swallowed by the increase of air whipping past their faces.

The falling sensation never ceased to amaze Eragon; for the split second right before Saphira flapped her wings and leveled out of the dive, Eragon felt as if it were his last moment alive. It happened every time that they flew together and Saphira still enjoyed getting her partner riled up over it.

Saphira dipped low, finding a rather open area to land. The place she settled upon was on the other side of the tall mountain, hidden from view by the rocks. This way they could build a fire and sleep comfortably in the small craggy openings without worry. A short hour-or-so's walk would place them on the other side, giving a good lookout place. Overall, Saphira had chosen the perfect spot.

She landed a bit ungracefully, and came to a hasty halt on the gritty sand and rock beneath them. Eragon was swift to get off, feeling his body quickly adjust from being on dragon to land.

Roran, however, had more difficulty. He tried to get off as he would a horse. When that failed him, he managed a sort of flop over Saphira's side, landing on her large rear foot. She glanced over at him, something like amusement in her eyes. _Are you all right?_

"She wishes to know if you are all right," Eragon chuckled as he strolled over to his cousin, helping him to stand.

Roran winced, taking Eragon's hand and standing shakily. "My leg fell asleep," he admitted. "I suppose it would have possibly been better to admit it and then get help before I was face-first in dirt and claw."

"Possibly," Eragon laughed as he turned from his cousin and looked around the clearing. "I think I will start a fire. Roran, could you unpack once you find your leg cooperating with you again?"

Roran made a perturbed face before it gave way to a smile. "Of course. Be quick," he added, rubbing his arms as if to ward of the chill. "I do not like the feel of this place at dark."

"You will probably feel even worse about it in the morning," Eragon murmured before slipping down from the rocks and into the darkness. He reveled in the cool air around him as he mindlessly picked through the rocks and found broken pieces of dead or dying limbs and bark.

Eragon thought as he did these tasks; mostly about what he had said to Roran. Roran would probably awake thinking that the warmth beside him was Katrina, only to turn and find the blazing fire reduced to a warm, comfortable flame. Embarrassment would set in, and then longing, and finally sorrow.

Eragon, too, knew that he would feel the same when he awoke from his magic-induced sleep the next morning to cold gruel and the thought that they may die. His single day with Arya had been too little amount of time; his two nights in her company had been too quickly gone from him. Now all he wanted was to see her face and hear her voice…

At least he, however, knew that he would soon be reunited with his lover –provided he and Roran were not captured and killed first, of course. Arya would be leading the Allied troops against the small band of scouts, playing the wise and fearless leader that Eragon knew she was.

He sighed wistfully, picking up a large piece of tinder and turning to make his way back toward the camp.

…

Arya was used to not sleeping by now. It had been close to fifty years since she had relied on magic to cast herself into sleep at night; fifty years since she had forced herself into a dreamless, false sleep more akin to a coma. She had grown accustomed to staying up all hours. She now spent that time with pacing around Borromeo Castle, usually finding herself outside of Eragon's door.

_This is ridiculous, Arya, _she thought venomously to herself as she willed her way down the hall and toward Nasuada's new chambers. _Pining… what Princess openly pines? Not an Elven one, certainly. Pull yourself together and think logically!_

But Arya knew fully well why her mind kept returning to Eragon –it was a known fact to anyone who knew elves. The elven women had a biological clock just like humans, ticking around the one hundred year mark. It began to slow at around one hundred and sixty.

Arya's one hundred and third birthing moon would be rolling around soon.

Her mother had made an offhanded comment about the matter. "Perhaps Eragon will sire us the future King of elves," she had murmured with her sneaky little smirk. Arya had only glared, stating what a foolish and unnecessary comment it had been. But it had been a very valid statement and, as much as Arya hated to admit it, everyone had been thinking somewhat along those lines anyway.

Arya decided to stop into Nasuada's quarters to discuss the maps the ruler had drawn up for them. She knew the girl would still be awake and most probably slaving over books of war; Nasuada rarely slept anymore.

Arya made it to the door without incident, surprised to only encounter one guard on her way there. He frowned at her, stopping to murmur, "The Lady says she wishes to sleep and not be disturbed."

Arya thought up a quick lie that was good enough to get the guard to let her alone. "She's having a rough time," she replied coolly, eyes never leaving his. "These are female problems that she has asked my help with. I can only imagine she'd send you and the others off."

The guard's face reddened and he murmured, "Oh… _oh_. Well of course, yes, do go in. I will be… be down the hall. If you two need anything…" He quickly turned on his heel and made his way down the corridor, lit only by flickering beeswax candles.

Arya sighed, rolling her eyes. She would have to speak to Nasuada about getting better guards. But their inattentiveness served her purpose –for now, at least. She pushed open the large, heavy outer door of Nasuada's chambers, stepping inside.

Arya's keen ears picked up a sound; there was a sniffling and then a soft cry of, "Why have you come?" At first Arya thought the question was directed at her. She furrowed her bows and stepped further into the dark parlor, soft boots moving noiselessly.

The next entryway led into Nasuada's bedchamber, the door slightly ajar. Arya peered into the room, lit only by the moonlight streaming over the flagstones. A tall figure stood before Nasuada, who seemed to have collapsed to her knees. Arya recognized that stance, that aura…

A soft laugh, decidedly masculine, emitted from the figure. "Do you really need to ask, Nasuada?"

_No, _Arya thought, mind reeling. She pulled back from the doorway ever so slightly, careful to remain within the safe hiding place of the shadows. She slowed her breathing and calmed herself as she listened. Nasuada was still sniffling.

"You should not have come," Nasuada whispered, her voice making little hiccupping noises as she tried to compose herself into a state of tranquility. She was failing miserably. "You are mad to come here, Murtagh."

"I needed to see you again."

That statement caught Arya off guard. So, the dirty little traitor actually had feelings for the ruler of the Varden? Or was this some ploy to get information?

Nasuada shook her head violently, locks of black hair flying about her face in loose waves. "No, Murtagh. No. I will not… _cannot_… succumb to you."

"You said you had feelings for me once," Murtagh argued gently, kneeling down and taking her hands in his. He traced his thumbs over her knuckles before whispering, "I was too afraid to act on what I had heard from a passing servant. I was too afraid that it was a rumor. But now I know what fear really is… and it is not you." Murtagh's hand rose to Nasuada's cheek, stroking it gently. There was sincerity and, above all else, tenderness.

"I loved you," he whispered in the ancient language, "from afar. And now I feel free and crazed enough to admit it. I want to be by your side as your support but…" He let out a frustrated sigh. "If Galbatorix only knew I was here…"

Nasuada closed her eyes painfully, drawing herself up to stand. She was once again the regal woman whom had taken the stage of the underground amphitheatre in Farthen Dur to become Varden leader. "Murtagh, we cannot. There is a war and we are on opposing sides. I wish it were otherwise, yet it is not. You must go… if not for my sake, then for yours."

"Hang the war!" Murtagh let out in an exasperated growl. He was once again in front of the woman, hands in her mess of hair, whispering, "I want it to end… and the only way it will is when Eragon kills Galbatorix and myself. Do you not see this, Nasuada? I will die and there is no way to change it. Galbatorix has bound me as his vassal in so many ways that I cannot get around the fact. Is it so wrong for me to want to share love for once in my pitiful life before it is gone?"

Arya knew she should go to tell one of the guards. She knew that it was far from safe to allow this snake in the same room as the leader of the Varden. Yet Murtagh was still speaking in the ancient language, his voice sweetly hushed. Only true masters of power were allowed the ability to lie in the language. Arya could, but it took a toll on her. Yet no strain appeared on Murtagh's face and there was no indication of the regular signs of lying in the ancient language –his hands were not trembling, but steady; his face was not dampened with sweat; his knees did not shake but supported him steadily.

Alarm suddenly gripped Arya. What was happening? And under her own nose? How long had these secret night meetings been going on?

She watched in unease as Murtagh leaned down, placing a kiss on Nasuada's lips. Arya turned from the scene and left just as quietly as she had come. If there was one thing that was certain, it was that Eragon must be informed.

…

Eragon had been in the middle of nibbling on a few berries he had brought in his pack when he caught a dim voice ringing in his mind.

_Eragon… can you hear me?_

_Arya? _He returned, eyes widening. He had not noticed he had dropped his blackberry to the dirty ground until Roran glanced up, startled. Eragon held a hand up for silence and ventured, _Arya, what is it? What has happened?_

_I can barely hear you –curse this distance… Listen to me carefully and do not speak. Murtagh is here, tonight. _Before Eragon had a chance to let out a very angry curse, Arya continued, _He has not come to harm anyone. Quite the opposite, in fact._

She quickly told him a slightly abridged version of the story, leaving out her run-in with the guard and such small matters that were unnecessary to retell. When she finished, she murmured, _Murtagh will be protecting Galbatorix in the final battle, Eragon. You will have to fight him. According to Murtagh's tone, he expects you to kill him. _

_But he is better at the sword then I will ever be, _Eragon argued. _And his dark magic far surpasses my light magic._

_Eragon, do you not see? _Arya murmured, voice becoming even fainter. _He plans on losing to you. Purposely. _

Eragon was silent for a time before he murmured, _He chose his path. He chose to live a life with Galbatorix instead of dying honorably. Even though he is my brother, I have no say in his life. If I must kill him to save Alagaesia, then I shall do it._

There was a long silence before Arya sighed. _You have matured so much over these past few months. It still surprises me._

Eragon smiled_. I have surprised an elf princess? You do me great honor saying so. _He silenced himself before adding softly, _I miss you._

Arya did not reply for a time, making Eragon worry that she had not heard him. Finally, though, her voice came through –slightly irritated. _Keep your mind focused, Eragon. You could be killed any moment out there and I will not have your death on my conscience. _

Eragon grinned, allowing himself a small chuckle at her easy deflection of his words. This was still his harrowed warrior, after all, not some lovesick Princess. _So be it, Arya. Until we are together again, _he amended, _I will try my best to think only of the war and only of my task._

_Good, _Arya replied, a pleased tone in her voice. _Until we are together again, _she repeated. She was then gone from his mind, her voice a distant memory.

Eragon quickly told Roran what Arya had said before turning to look at Saphira, curled up near the fire with her head poking out of a folded wing. He knew she had listened in on his conversation with Arya through their mental link. Her scaly brow was furrowed in what seemed to be concentration.

Roran sighed, looking into the flames thoughtfully. "I never knew this man, but if he is a brother of yours and Arya truly believes him, then he must be a good man at heart."

_I cannot help but feel wary of this, _Saphira thrummed aloud, reaching both of their minds. _I trust Arya and yet, at the same time, I worry that her own feelings may be interfering with her ability to reason._

"How so?" Roran asked, seeming confused.

_She is most probably more affected by Eragon's sudden departure than she lets on. It may be clouding her mind and making it nearly impossible for her to see clearly, _Saphira elaborated.

Eragon was doubtful but did not voice it. He instead lied down on his pallet, forlornly gazing at the starry night. "Whatever it may be," Eragon murmured, "we will soon know. Arya will keep me alerted of danger." He snuggled into the woolen comfort of his blankets and wove a false slumber around himself, going into a trance-like daze to wait out the black night.

…

It was an hour after dawn when a small boy, about eight, ran up to Arya's side and tugged at her shirtsleeve. She started, glancing down from the book she had been examining, to find the boy stooped in a bow. "Milady!" he squeaked. "I was told to summon you to Lady Nasuada's chambers! The Lady would like to speak with you urgently in private!"

Arya sighed, setting down the book and straightening the black jerkin's sleeve. "That is fine. I shall go presently." Seeing the boy stand and look up at her in open adoration made Arya wrack her brain from something to say to the awed child. "I… thank you. You delivered your message well and with accuracy."

The boy beamed before bowing again. He was up in an instant, shooting out of the room and down the hall like an arrow, no doubt to go brag about the lovely elf's words. Arya sighed again before tossing her hair over one shoulder.

Off to see what mess Nasuada had made of herself.

…

Author's Note:

I told you my muse was back!

I wrote this chapter in three hours last night after work. I really needed sleep, but damnit, I _needed_ to write! My brain was running circles trying to get me to put these ideas floating in my head down on paper. So, here it is. I hope it was satisfactory.

Special thanks goes out to **_inkflow._**I have not been able to reply to your message as of yet, but I will eventually. Sorry, it feels like all hell has broken loose at the college and I need to go back three time in order to get registered; work is killing me very slowly; and I have all of those pesky little theatre productions to direct. Blah. But thank you for your kinds words, and I did read your first chapter. I have yet to leave a review, but I will! I love it, truly. There are a few small errors, but even I have those –and in more abundance: ) Don't worry, my Lord Inkflow, I'll get you onto a C2.

Thank you to all of the fans and avid reviewers! You make my life.

Love love,

Eternity


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Meanwhile, In Borromeo Castle**

* * *

Arya found that the guards by Nasuada's door had been replaced by more trained, experience men. They barred Arya's passage with their knaves, one asking in a gruff voice, "What does the Elf Princess need with th' Varden leader this early morn?"

Arya paused, stifling the sigh that longed to escape, and forced her voice to come out calmly and collectedly. "To that, even I have no answer. A young boy who claimed the Lady Nasuada wished to speak with me privately summoned me here. Was there no such boy leaving the Lady's quarters not but ten minute ago?"

"Aye," the man replied grudgingly. "But we will need to speak with th' Lady 'afore letting you in."

"Fine, but please be quick," she murmured, relaxing her rigid pose and crossing her arms impatiently beneath her breasts. Elves were renowned for their fortitude; the truth of the matter was that they had simply grown accustomed to hiding irritation in a diplomatic fashion. Arya was out of diplomacy at this moment and refused to put up a front before the hired help.

The gruff guard remained while the other went to ask Nasuada about her visitor. He soon returned, voice soft as he said, "The Lady says you may enter."

Arya walked past them with a flourish, her hair swinging like an angry serpent. She heard one of them, the gruff one no doubt, mutter something about 'damn cheeky elves.' She pretended not to hear and continued through the parlor and into the bedroom.

The only thing that looked remotely like a boudoir in the room was a large bed practically shoved between two grand shelves as if it had been a casual afterthought. There were three long desks in the room, a rack of weaponry, and a coat of armor.

Nasuada sat at one of the grand desks, books and heavy tomes scattered about her. She seemed to be pouring over one with great intensity. Arya cleared her throat, standing in the doorway at strict attention. "You called for me?"

Nasuada glanced up, her expression clouded. She blinked a few times before a small, weary smile spread across her face. "Oh, Arya. Come in and sit with me. There is really no reason to be so formal."

Arya did as she was bid, coming to sit at the table across from the thin ruler. She uneasily shifted into the seat, wary as to what this conversation could possibly be about. It would either be Eragon or Murtagh, no doubt. Neither subject seemed appealing to Arya's troubled mind at the moment.

Nasuada closed the book that sat in front of her, peering at Arya oddly. "You know, Arya," she began softly, her tone amiable, "it is hard for a woman like myself to be in a war. Tactic does not come naturally to me; all that I know I have learned from years of watching my father. I still make so many mistakes, yet I thank the Gods that I have you and Eragon to help me along… and that is why you amaze me," she murmured, still smiling in her soft way. "You can be a war leader helping me conquer the Empire and still be a woman devoting yourself to Eragon."

Arya's eyes widened. "Nasuada, really, there is nothing between Eragon and myself but feelings of ardor. We have shared nothing outside of the chaste kisses of first love."

Nasuada's smile widened and she murmured, "Oh, but I am sure that will change soon. Yet that is beside the point," she added quickly, sensing the elf's growing agitation. "My original point was that you are able to be a leader and woman, taking everything in stride.

"That," she continued, getting to her feet and beginning to pace, "is why I asked you to come speak with me this morning." She paused in her pacing to glance over at her bed, something strange flickering behind her eyes. She glanced over at Arya, who had to suppress a shudder at the sudden intensity of the ruler's gaze. "Can you keep a secret, Arya Svit-kona?"

Disquiet flooded Arya's mind. It was Murtagh. By the expression on Nasuada's face and the way she had been acting, it was clear. Nasuada had given herself up to Murtagh the previous night. Arya looked away. "It all depends, my Lady. Whom am I keeping this secret from?"

"Everyone. The world," Nasuada murmured, glancing out the open window. The first sounds of activity came from the markets outside of the palace gates.

"You know I would tell no business of yours to a common stranger or person who intended you harm," Arya began, choosing her words carefully. "Yet you also know that I can hide nothing from Eragon. If we are truly to announce ourselves as bound then we can keep no secrets from each other."

Nasuada seemed to flinch at the words. "Eragon… he is the one whom I was scared would learn of this…"

Arya stood, walking over to the dark skinned, lovely ruler. She wanted to comfort her somehow, yet her elven reserve made her hold back. "Nasuada, what has happened?"

"Leave me," Nasuada whispered, eyes closing. "I need some time in silence."

…

Arya had spent the remainder of the day training in the courtyard with the elves who would be going into battle with her in four days time. She had scheduled to work with the human forces tomorrow and the dwarves the last day, yet she was anxious to be on the move. Training was not satisfying her need to travel, her need to take out the energy inside of her.

It was nearly dusk when she returned to her room in order to change for dinner. She found her door cracked open; something quite unusual. She pushed the door open slowly, drawing her knife in one fluid movement. She entered into the bedroom, partially blinded by the rays of the setting sun.

She winced against the light and saw him lying regally across the chaise under the window. His long, dark hair had been washed recently; it hung around his pale, nicely shaped face like a dark curtain. One eye cracked open and he smiled her way.

"Arya, I was wondering when you would arrive. Put the knife away, will you? You might accidentally hurt someone and I really do not need anymore scars."

"Are you mad?" she asked, voice a low hiss. "What are you doing here?"

Murtagh gave a heavy sigh, pushing himself off of the chaise and stretching. In the ancient language he murmured, "Arya, I am unarmed. You may search me if you truly find it necessary. I came here to talk with you, nothing more. Can we speak like civil adults or do I need to go directly to Eragon?"

Arya raised an arched eyebrow, sliding her knife back into its hip sheath. "What do you wish to speak to me of?"

Murtagh absently rubbed a hand over his arm, glancing around the room as if studying it. "I heard tell that you and Eragon are now considered beaus. Is it true?"

Arya turned her head slightly in a questioning way but answered, "Yes. What of it?"

"Arya, I know that you were in Nasuada's room last night," he alleged, eyes boring into hers. "And I know that you told Eragon; or, at least, I have a nagging suspicion you did."

"I did," Arya confirmed the unasked question in his statement.

"I expected as much." Murtagh's expression became dark and distant before he moved to the door. "I must go now. I fear Galbatorix may search my mind for where I have been. I can say no more on these matters." As he brushed by her, he slipped a piece of paper into her hand. Arya watched him leave before glancing down at the scribbled sentence.

_We must talk – I will be back._

If anything, Murtagh's appearance made Arya even more agitated and uneasy. Forgetting dinner, Arya paced her room, glancing out the window and watching the sun sink away.

Once the night descended, she vaulted over the wall of Borromeo Castle and ran across the cooling sands of the desert. The wind in her hair and shifting sand beneath her feet made her feel better than she had since Eragon's departure.

She quickly arrived at one of the lovely sandstone masses that dotted the desert, climbing into one of the nooks. It was the same cave in which she had admitted her feelings for Eragon. She lay across the cool stone, her eyes drooping.

She barely had time to register that something was odd before her eyes slid closed and she lost all conscious feeling of her body. She slid into a magic-induced sleep that seemed to exude from the very rocks.

…

"Arya… Arya, come on. You need to focus."

Arya opened her eyes. Whiteness surrounded her, save for one dark spot. Murtagh. "Where am I?" she asked, voice groggy. Her head felt as if it were splitting in half.

"In your dreams," he said with a wry smile. "Or my dreams, who really knows? All I am certain of is that you and I are both asleep; you magically, me physically. There was no other way I could communicate with you and not have Galbatorix find out."

"How did you-"

"Induce you into a coma without your knowledge?" Murtagh finished with a dry laugh. "It is easy to do if you know the dark magics. But that is not the point. I need to tell you something very important, Arya, and I have a feeling you will thank me in the end."

"What is it?" Arya asked, voice soft.

Murtagh switched to the ancient language, voice fluid and quick. "You have spies among you, Arya. I cannot speak their names, for one of them is mistress of dreams and would hear my words if she was mentioned in this realm. One of them has become very vocal about your plans ever since you and Eragon joined hands; she believes herself slighted, it seems," Murtagh laughed harshly.

Arya's eyes widened. Trianna. The little witch was a spy!

"I will have her imprisoned," Arya growled, eyes flashing.

"No!" Murtagh interrupted, suddenly anxious. "If you do that, Galbatorix will know that someone has been informing you. No, Arya, you cannot. Simply allow me to be your spy for the opposite side."

Arya furrowed her eyebrows. "Why are you wanting to help us so badly, Murtagh?"

Murtagh's eyes lost their fevered sheen and seemed to become deadened. "You should know, Arya. You were held in Gil'ead, were you not? The torture…" he shuddered in what appeared to be true terror. "It is unbearable. Death is even preferable to being the whipped puppy at the foot of the King."

Arya was silent for a time before she said quite passionlessly, "And do you truly believe that your brother will be able to raise a blade against you, his own flesh and blood?"

"He will," Murtagh began confidently, "to save Alagaesia. And he will have to in order to avenge the death of the Great King of Dwarves."

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" Arya asked, unsure as to whether she was disgusted or relieved.

"Not everything," he admitted. "Such as how you are going to save Eragon and his cousin."

Arya crossed her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Were you not listening?" Murtagh snapped, suddenly peevish. "We have spies, Arya. Galbatorix knows that Eragon and his damn cousin are in that mountain. The troops they are supposedly watching know it, too. They plan to attack the day after tomorrow at dawn."

Arya felt her heart give a jolt. "What?"

"You heard me elf," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Now awaken and begin your preparations for war."

* * *

Author's Note:

Ah, it feels so good to be writing this story again!

Sorry for the entire chapter consisting of Arya… but really there's nothing for Eragon and Roran to do until after Murtagh announces what he just announced…

So yes, the next chapter will begin with Eragon (yay!).

Love love,

Eternity


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

**The Beginning of Doom**

* * *

Eragon watched as the embers of the fire slowly began to fade into a pale yellow glow. The fire had extinguished itself after only five hours.

_Everything all right, little one? _Saphira asked, stretching her neck out so that her large head rested on the ground beside his thigh.

Eragon smiled, glancing down at her as running a hand over her scaly brow. _Fine. I have only been wondering how everything is going at the Varden while Roran and I watch soldiers walk aimlessly around their camp. _

_It does seem like pointless work, doesn't it? _Saphira thrummed, thick eyelids sliding down over the gems of her eyes.

_Just a bit, _Eragon replied. He waited a few more moments before sighing. _I need to go get more wood for the fire. Make sure Roran doesn't worry if he awakes, will you? _

_Of course,_ Saphira agreed, watching as he stood and began to maneuver his way down the mountainside. She then turned her attention to the strange land around them. Something felt unusual… _wrong_, almost. _Eragon? _She asked, reaching out to feel his mind.

It was blocked from her.

Further down the mountain, Eragon was fumbling about in the dark, clenching his jaws in irritation. He couldn't seem to be able to focus as well as he normally did. There was the nagging of presence that he constantly felt, although now it was the enemy's presence. He felt the life of everyone in the camp below and it made him jumpy.

_Enough of this, _he sighed in irritation. He threw up his barriers, blocking out everything. His mind was, once again, clear and peaceful. It was a relief to not feel the movements of those lost in the troughs of sleep below him. Now he was able to concentrate on the matter at hand – sneaking into the enemy's camp tomorrow night and going undetected. He and Roran had studied the guard's routes and their time changes, finding only a five-minute span of no guards and a clear path.

The only problem now was getting _out_ without being caught.

His thoughts rode over his sense of time, his sense of self. All he concentrated on were the thoughts muddling his mind, swirling about. He didn't even notice the sound of tiny peddles falling from a rocky overhang.

It was too late when realization finally set in… the mountain crickets were no longer buzzing around him cheerfully. The tiny desert owl ceased its gentle hoots. Eragon stood, slowly, eyes scanning the darkness.

It was then that he felt something sharp and stinging glance along his shoulder, the sound of cold laughter in his ear.

…

Murtagh awoke, groggy and disoriented, on a cold stone floor. He pulled himself up, wincing at the searing pain that laced through each movement. He let out a small groan, managing to pull himself up to his feet with the help of the wall.

"Feeling ready for the next round so soon?"

The pain in his body could almost be compared pleasant to that voice. But this was no time to appear weak. No matter what, Murtagh refused to grovel, even if it earned him more thrashings. He wiped at his lip, finding a sticky mixture of saliva and blood there. "How many has it been now, Galbatorix?" he asked nastily. "Five, six? Yes, I believe I can stomach four more torture rounds."

The man before him simply sneered, his lip curling up maliciously. Without warning, Murtagh fell to his knees; it felt as if a fist had closed itself around his heart, squeezing with just enough pressure to make Murtagh feel as if it would burst. The crack of his knees as he hit the stones resonated, muffling his choked wheezes.

"Do not be demeaning with me, boy," he mocked as he slowly stepped toward the fallen man. "I can kill you with a single look."

"Then… do it," Murtagh wheezed out, wanting desperately to cry out from the pain that forced him into a fetal position. Death would be so much better than this torture, so much better than this degrading experience he was tormented with.

"Oh no, my boy," Galbatorix laughed, tone jeering. "No, that would be much too easy. You see, your brother will be the one to slay you… this Eragon Shadeslayer of the Varden. And then I shall dispose of him after he is weakened and I will once again be the sole Rider." With that he released his hold on Murtagh, making the boy choke and gasp, bombarded with the sudden

"You can make me swear allegiance to you," Murtagh finally managed after a moment of panting for breath. "You can make me fight for you… but you can never make me give my all in the fight…" Murtagh raised a rebellious gaze to the man before him and snickered. "Even you have never seen me fight with my true potential."

Galbatorix raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Oh? Is that what you think?" He turned away, his back a tall, thin line of black. "I think otherwise. I do not need to bind you to me in words… You have given me the ultimate weapon; your weakness. During the final battle, rest assured that I _will_ use it against you."

With those final words, the sinister shadow that was the Empire's ruler left the room, leaving Murtagh slumped on the floor.

…

Nasuada entered the stables with a look of utter confusion on her lovely features. "Arya, what is this madness? We were not supposed to leave for another week-"

"Plans changed," Arya answered shortly, saddling up another horse. She turned to look at the ruler, saying quickly, "The others have already been briefed and I left an elf in charge in my stead. They are leaving at daybreak for the camp sight."

"Arya, why-"

"It was a set-up," Arya replied exasperatedly. "I need to leave in order to warn Eragon and Roran ahead of time. With luck, our forces will be able to arrive in time for the enemy's preemptive attack." Arya turned from the ruler, her long hair flying out with the motion.

"Where are you going?" Nasuada asked, startled.

"You, Orrin and Islanzadi said it yourselves," Arya murmured as she walked, a small, sad smirk on her face. "Nothing travels as fast as a dragon. I am off to get our spare."

Nasuada stopped in her tracks, eyes widened. She wanted to run after the elf and sputter her indignations – she couldn't bring the child into this! It was pure suicide to send both dragons into a minor skirmish.

But she knew that Arya would not listen. Instead Nasuada glanced up to the sky, wondering –not for the first time- how this war would end and what would be lost.

…

Eragon tried, valiantly, to reach out to Saphira but found his mind blocked off. He cursed himself inwardly, trying to drop his mental barriers, wrestle with the sudden weight of a person on top of him, and cry out to his second half.

_Saphira! Help! _

_Eragon! _

Her worried voice was like a call of relief to him. She was coming. She was coming to save him. The thought gave him a sense of power once again and he shoved at the weight on top of him, making the person fall back with a muffled cry.

Eragon pulled himself to his feet, hand going to his shoulder. His fingers came back darkened with blood. He cursed venomously, grabbing for the sword at his hip –which, inconveniently, was not there.

Eragon let out a sound of desperate irritation, realizing that Barzul was lying beside his bedroll. The figure was lunging toward him, noiseless on their feet. Eragon grabbed for one of the tinders for the fire, hoping and praying to every God that the person was not wearing armor.

The sound of Saphira's wings were a welcomed comfort. His assailant pulled a bow in a matter of seconds, firing off an arrow. Eragon watched Saphira jerk back before landing unsteadily beside him. She let out a low growl, her jaws snapping up the man with a crunch before he could grope for his sword. Eragon's vision swam, his eyes threatening to close. He wondered, briefly, what could have caused the sudden drowsiness before he fell to his feet.

_Eragon… _there were more words, yet Eragon's fuzzy mind could not discern them. _Sleep! _

_What?_ He grumbled, his stomach lurching painfully. What was happening?

_…Trace, Eragon! Don't you remember… Arya captive? …Trance? Put yourself… trance! _

Eragon found his mind unresponsive, but the word 'trance' did sound quite enticing. He wove a little barrier around himself, feeling his body slide into the false sleep of the elves.

…

"What has happened?" Roran called as he vaulted down to where Saphira and Eragon lay on a lower tier. He had heard Saphira leave the campsite, but she had told him nothing.

_Eragon is injured, _Saphira growled, sounding annoyed. _He blocked off his mind and was unable to sense the scout sneaking up behind him. It was foolish beyond all reason. And he didn't even bring a sword! _

Her anger was a motherly rage that was laced with concern. She shuffled over to his side, sniffing his shoulder as if she could breathe the toxin out of him. It was only then that Roran noticed Saphira's wound – a nasty clip to her wing.

"Saphira, are you wounded, as well?" It was a stupid question and Roran knew it. She had a gashed wing; of course she was wounded!

_Only a scratch, _she murmured, letting out a snort. A trickle of flame emitted, as well, lighting up the air for a split second. _The attacker managed to land an arrow in my wing, but I am fine. _

Roran looked uneasily toward the encampment. "What should we do about Eragon?"

I will try to reach Arya. I… I cannot abort the mission and return. My wing would not hold up to the journey, not without magical assistance.

Roran let out a sigh, feeling their impending doom. After a few moments of silence, he voiced the worry on both of their minds. "The people will begin to worry when this one is found missing tomorrow morning."

_Yes,_ Saphira murmured, lowering herself to the rock with a puff of smoke as a sigh. _And the first place they will look for their lost companion will be this mountain. _

* * *

Author's Note:

A lot happened in this chapter. We got introduced to the smart-ass Murtagh who refuses to grovel (more in character, isn't he?), we see that Eragon is a foolish ninny for not taking Barzul with him everywhere, Arya is off to save her love (cough, cough), and Abbila will finally return.

To address previous concerns: There was, actually, a reason that Abbila fell into the background and was not mentioned. I, however, being the evil plot-mistress that I am, will not disclose that information at this give time (insert evil chuckle here). I WILL, however, tell you that our dear Trianna will be making an appearance… and not one that will be expected. (Ominous!)

Toodles!

Love love,

E.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**Falsely Foretold**

* * *

_Can you feel their presence?_

_Yes, but just faintly…_Abbila's voice faded from Arya's mind before she murmured, _Just a moment, let me try to call to Saphira._

Arya held tight to the small girl's waist, feeling foolish in the act but not willing to fall to her death in order to look collected. Briam was hardly the smooth flier that Saphira was; most of his actions were jerky, unsteady.

_She says they are just ahead! _Abbila called to her, voice somewhat frantic. _Eragon has been wounded! Saphira says there is poison in the wound!_

Arya's eyes widened considerably. _Where are they, Abbila? _

_They're just ahea -oww, Arya! That hurts!_

Arya hadn't even noticed that her hand had tightened on the young girl's waist. She let up on her grip, feeling restless. He was wounded, poisoned, and about to be attacked by about one hundred men come tomorrow morning.

Everything seemed to get bleaker by the moment.

Briam made an unsteady descent when the large sapphire dragon came into sight. She was partly hidden by a rocky outlook, only her massive backside visible from the air.

Arya felt the onset of dawn beating down on her back as they came to a halt at the small alcove. Arya wasted no time in vaulting herself over the back of the dragon, light feet barely touching the ground as she rushed to where Roran sat. Eragon's head was in his cousin's lap, his face beaded in sweat.

"Arya?" Roran asked, seeming confused. There were ghosts of tears on his cheeks, his eyes red. "What are you-"

"Stand aside," Arya said without any softness to her voice. She was a hardened warrior, not a babysitter who needed to comfort everyone. Roran jerkily moved, allowing Arya to kneel beside Eragon.

Arya tore Eragon's tunic down the center, peeling it away from his blood-soaked skin. She focused on the wound, gentle fingers touching the bloating edges. The skin was already emitting a foul smell much akin to rotting fish.

"Degador poison," she whispered, eyes widening. How in the Varden's name did common foot soldiers get their hands on this sort of thing?

"What does that mean?" Abbila asked softly, coming to stand beside Arya. Briam stretched his neck out, head nudging her in a comforting gesture.

Arya, however, was irritable and the girl's proximity was not helping. "Step back, please, Abbila. Stop crowding me."

The girl was quick to step back, allowing Arya to bed over the wound and examine it. "The cut was not that deep, but he has bled a great deal. Saphira, would you lend me your strength?"

The large dragon, having watched on in silence, moved over to them. _My services are yours, Arya Svit-kona. _

Arya spared a small, grateful smile to the dragon before placing her fingers on each side of the wound, probing it with her mind. The bone was intact, saving her from at least one complex spell. The muscles, however, were torn and diseased, rotting at a fast pace. Arya went to work on it, first, using her knowledge on poisons to counter the effects. By the time one patch of muscle was cured, a sweat had broken out along her brow.

_Saphira, could you lend me a small bit of your strength? _She asked, feeling that her mental connection was wavering. She was unused to dealing with such complex poisons. After a few moments, she felt a flood of power enter her, pushing aside the confusion and nausea that had taken control of her.

Senses sharpened, Arya went back to work. The muscles and ligaments were rejoined without much fuss, and then Arya healed the diseased flesh and sewed it back together with her power.

Pulling back from her task, Arya murmured, "It is done." Saphira pulled out of her mind, leaving Arya's head swimming in pain and queasiness. Arya shuddered, whispering, "Listen to me carefully, Roran… this is all a setup. There is an informant within the Varden. The Empire knows you and Eragon are here and they are going to attack at tomorrow's dawn."

"What?" Abbila asked, eyes widening. "Who told you this?"

Arya eyelids fluttered, a wave of sickness wracking through her body. "A spy of our own." She leaned forward, eyes closed, before whispering between gritted teeth, "I need to recover. If anything happens, Saphira, I am counting on you to rouse me."

_Of course, _Saphira murmured, once again granting Arya enough of her power to weave a cocoon of sleep around herself. All went mercifully black for the elf. For a time, there was nothing but the cool healing blackness.

…

_I should have known you would come to save me._

Arya blinked, confused for a moment. Blackness surrounded her in her trance, making it hard for her to distinguish anything. _Eragon?_

_Aye, _he answered in the ancient tongue, his voice laced with amusement. _You sound surprised._

_I did not think you would be up and about so soon, _was her half-lie and only explanation. In truth, this reminded her too much of when they had first met… when she lay helpless and dying, his voice the only thing that could reach her.

_It is midnight… and if what you say is true, the Empire's small brigade should be attacking in only a few hours._

Alarm shot through Arya. It had been that long already? Normally she was able to keep better track of time, even in an ageless place such as a trance. _How are the others taking the news? _She finally asked, already knowing the answer.

_Not well. They are sleeping rather restlessly at the moment. Surprisingly, Abbila is the calmer of the two. Roran is worried sick and says we should take to the sky before they arrive. What do you say?_

_I say Roran is not completely at fault for that thought, _Arya responded. _We should probably fall back further. My elves should be here by dawn, if, of course, Fellep followed my orders._

_Fellep? _Eragon asked.

_Fellep, my second in command of the Elven warriors._

There was a pause before Eragon murmured, _When shall you awaken?_

_Now, _Arya replied, breaking her mental link with him and beginning to pull herself from the darkness that enveloped her. It was harder to remove one's self from the trance than it was to cast it. The silence and peaceful blackness had a strong hold; a seducing power, almost. She soon found herself in the moonlit world, however, her eyes blinking back the thin film of protein covering them.

_Welcome back, _Eragon murmured, his smile faint and slightly worry-stricken as he leaned over her. _And thank you for protecting me… again._

Arya returned the gesture, sitting up slowly. Eragon was staring at her as if afraid she might faint. He looked much older than the last time she had seen him… as if being in the wild had aged him past his sixteen years. He appeared, easily twenty now with a scraggly beard forming and the haunted look in his eyes of a man.

_It seems to be a never-ending cycle for us, _Arya finally murmured before elaborating, _saving each other, I mean. _Other that a dull pain at the back of her skull, a sort of hangover from casting so much power, Arya felt wonderfully rejuvenated.

A grin split across his features, giving his face his youthful appearance once again. _Aye… I suppose it is._ He reached out, a bit hesitantly, and stroked a calloused hand across her cheek. _I've missed you._

Arya sighed softly, torn between being a good warrior and being a good woman. She wanted to go to him, lie in his arms, talk with him… but there was a war being fought and a battle breathing down their necks. There was no time for romance. Not now, at least.

_Eragon, _she whispered softly, eyes closing and leaning her face against his hand. _We cannot-_

_I know,_ he interrupted. _I know… But I have to. Lying there in my trance, feeling the poison course through my body, I realized… realized that we never really know how much time we have. I may die in the battle coming at dawn. A stray arrow from our own side may hit me. We just don't know and that… that scares me. I do not want to lose you._

_Eragon-_

_Let me finish, Arya, _he interrupted, eyes closing. _I want you to know how much you mean to me. Just in case. _

_Eragon, _Arya interrupted again, reaching out and taking his face between her long, graceful hands. _I already do._

With those simply words, Eragon felt himself swell with unexpected feelings: relief, pride, joy, and above all, fear. Fear for their relationship, for her, for himself. He pulled Arya into his arms, his face buried in the silky dark hair that fell around her, and felt complete.

That was when the first sense stench of unwashed human bodies reached their noses.

The enemy was coming – two hours earlier than foretold.

* * *

Author's Note:

I know, I know, it's two days late. I am so sorry. I had work, an emotional breakdown, a doctor and councilor's appointment, college registration, and another nervous breakdown thrown in there for good measure.

All of that in two days.

But anyway, I am coping.

So, here is the very short chapter. Sorry about that, I just wanted to end it here for the sake of a cliffhanger. : ) Oh yes, I am evil.

Love love,

E


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Stars**

* * *

**Author's PRE Note**:

There seems to be quite a few questions regarding Abbila and Briam…All I can say at this point in time is that there is a reason as to why they haven't been in the spotlight much. One of readers has actually gotten pretty close as to the reason why Abbila and Briam are so powerful so suddenly. But, I digress. I don't want to give too much information away, only pique the interests.

_Another thing: Wow. Thank you all. My readers certainly did come out of the woodwork for this last chapter. This chapter was written in a few hours and updated immediately after finishing, as a sort of thank-you gift._

_As for Nasuada and Murtagh's POV… it is coming. Thank you for suggesting it to me. I meant to do something from their perspective a few chapters back, but my muse made me forget and jump into the whole 'must save Eragon' thing._

_Also, I don't own the song used for our chapter's title; "Stars" by Lacuna Coil._

**_Thank you all!_**

* * *

Even through the peaceful night, it was evident that Borromeo Castle had fallen upon dark times. The War Council had barely adjourned longer than it took for sparse meals to be conducted and a faint ghost of sleep to occur.

"Why was it only the elves that were dispatched?" An older noble, Fluerry, cried out in anger. "This is a matter of the Varden's rider and the killer of the Twins! The elves have no say in-"

Islanzadi, watching the man with cool, detached eyes, spoke up. "Do you think it was a plan on mine? Is that what you suggest?" Her voice was even, tone curt.

Fluerry, seeming glad to have someone to point a finger at, yelled, "Whom else could it be, Lady Elf? You _are_ the leader of them all!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," was Orrin's lame attempt to silence the bickering.

Islanzadi stood in a swift motion, causing silence to fall around the room of twenty occupants. "I will only explain this once," she murmured, the sound of the Furies in her voice. "My daughter, Arya, had taken control over the troops – all of them. The leaders of the Varden and Surda humans, dwarvan, and Urgals were to report to her. In essence, she became supreme General, which all of us," she added, eyes scanning them all, "agreed upon.

"When I awoke yesterday morn, I had only a note penned in my daughter's hand, saying not to worry about her or the girl Rider. They were going to help Eragon Shadeslayer and his cousin. Needless to say, I was – and still am – worried about my child and what her moment of rashness may bring upon us all.

"The elves have followed Arya's order, being that she is their commander. They are already on the march toward the encampment. No doubt they will arrive around dawn this coming morn."

Nasuada had been nodding slowly through Islanzadi's words before she, too, stood. "Arya and I spoke before she left. It was an act of desperation and an act of love that drove her to do as she did. I do not blame her or fault her… although I have tried to convince myself I would not be as rash if I were in the same situation." Her eyes seemed to cloud for a moment before she took a shuddering breath to continue.

"I am thankful that Arya took only the elves; they have more skill and speed than the average human. Less will be lost in this skirmish in that regard. Now, if I might ask we all dismantle the council for some time to rest?" she turned the question toward Orrin, who nodded sagely.

"I think it best," the ruler began, worry lines heavy on his brow, "if we all managed to find some sleep and solitude."

…

Nasuada stumbled into her room, feeling suddenly lightheaded an unreasonably tired. She had been weary only moments before, yet now she felt as if she could barely keep her eyes open.

She scarcely made it to her bed before sleep overtook her.

The dream was filled with sounds – the crashing of waves, the sound of children laughing… and then a voice she knew very, very well.

"Nasuada… We must speak."

Nasuada's eyes opened in her dreamscape, being met with lush green and the rockiness of a shore overlooking the roaring Sea. She turned and saw Murtagh, standing amid the green grass with his black tunic and breeches.

"Murtagh," she breathed, eyes widening. "What…"

"Hush, Nasuada," he murmured, coming to stand before her. His hand rose to stroke her cheek, his icy gaze faltering. "Galbatorix knows about us. Knows about… this," he whispered, seeming to choke, his hand stroking down the flat plane of her stomach.

Nasuada's eyes widened. "How-"

Murtagh shook his head, looking pained, and turned away from her. "He's been leading me along all of this time. He knew I would go to you if I found the opportunity. He _knew_," he yelled suddenly, slamming his hand into the bark of a nearby tree. The shock of red blood welled from his knuckles, painting the pale trunk of the beech. "He knew and I thought I had broken free of his will!"

"Murtagh, what do you mean?" Nasuada asked, eyes wide. She came up behind him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please, Murtagh, look at me… Please?"

Murtagh jerked away from her hand, turning on her with hatred burning in his eyes. "Get away from me," he hissed. "All of this… this madness, this torture that he puts me through… it's because of _you_!"

Nasuada stumbled back, gasping as he pulled his sword –Zar'roc- from the sheath at his hip. He pointed it at her, eyes no longer the passionate, soulful gaze of Murtagh of the Varden. He was truly one of Galbatorix's now.

_What was it I had said in the War Council? _Nasuada thought as Murtagh ran at her with a savage cry. _Oh yes… that I would not be as silly as to run into a fight for love. But look at me now._

Nasuada closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of a sword running her through. It did not come. She peeled her eyelids open only to find Murtagh, panting, kneeling at her feet. The red sword lay beside him, seemingly forgotten.

"It is because of you," he whispered, still gazing at the grass between his fingers.

Nasuada lowered herself in front of him, caressing his face with her fingers. Wordlessly she pulled him to her, cheek nestled against his head. She felt his arms wrap around her, his face cradles against the crook of her neck.

"Why do you comfort me, even after I attempted to kill you?"

Nasuada smiled. "Because, I am a silly girl who once believed you loved me. Why did you try to kill me?"

Murtagh pulled away only enough to meet her gaze with his. "Because, I am a silly boy who thought he could fight his fate."

With that, the dream flickered out and Nasuada was left in her bed, cradling her stomach and the child growing within.

…

"Arya?"

"I know," she whispered, not pulling back from him. There was nothing in her voice but a tinge of sadness. Whether the sadness was due to their moment being interrupted or the fact that they were more than likely going to die with these odds, Eragon knew not. More than likely it was a mixture of the two, the latter of which being more predominant.

"Will we survive?" he asked softly, eyes closing as one hand fingered the hilt of Barzul.

"We must," was Arya's only reply. With that, she spun around, out of his grasp, and rand toward the overlook just above them. Eragon's night vision allowed him to see that they were there, just above them, circling.

"Damn," Eragon cursed, running to the fire. "Get up!" he yelled, making Abbila and Roran both start. Saphira and Briam were nowhere to be seen. "Curses," he muttered again, reaching out mentally. _Saphira!_

_What is it, little one? _She returned, sounding confused. _We are only out hunting – _

_Get back here, now! The enemy has launched an early attack!_

He heard Saphira curse rather venomously before she ended connection. Eragon wondered why, now of all times, they chose to go hunt. That, however, was not his issue at the moment. He glanced back to where Arya had gone. She was spinning luidly between foes, striking them down two at a time without so much as a sweat breaking her brow.

Eragon found his legs moving, launching himself toward the outcropping. She would not fight alone, no matter how good she was. She could not handle one hundred foes at once.

Eragon was hardly to the outcropping when something grabbed his foot, slinging him into a massive rock. Eragon let out a cry of pain, spots swimming before his eyes. A soldier, laughing ruefully at the trick, stood above him.

"Not much of a Rider without your dragon, are you?" the man laughed before bringing his sword down.

The sword was cut short by a hammer's massive head and Roran yelled, "Eragon, get your wits about you _before_ charging into a fray!" Roran used his brute strength to push the man off before swinging the heavy mallet down on the soldier's head.

"Are you alright now?" Roran asked, eyes never leaving Eragon's.

"Aye," Eragon replied breathlessly, wondering how in Varden's name he managed to mess up so soon in the battle. "Thanks."

Roran grunted before launching himself into the pulsing bodies that were the Empire's scouts.

Eragon took a deep breath, grabbed Barzul, and joined Roran and Arya. He had no time to wonder where Abbila had gone, hoping that she had found an adequate hiding place. Her swordsmanship skills were still hardly up to par with these men.

A man wearing the leather jerkin of a hired hand swung at him out of nowhere, a large battleaxe zooming in. Eragon thanked the elven dragon god for granting him speed, for it was only that which kept him from becoming an ornament on the ground. He ducked away from the swinging blade, swinging his own blade upward and disemboweling the man with a single sweep.

Barzul seemed to ring with inner power at the touch of the man's blood. Eragon had little time to ponder it, however, and shoved the attacker off of his blade. Sweeping about, sword swinging, he caught another intruder just under the ribs, making them stumble about to face him. At first Eragon felt badly for attacking while the man was unaware of him, but it quickly faded when he heard a shout from the other side of the dwelling. He cut the man down with a quick prod and twist into the gut, running toward the sound.

Arya was pinned against a rock, blood seeping from a torn arm. Three of the men circled her, one of them laughing before jabbing his short sword toward Arya. She deflected easily, but Eragon could see the weariness in her. She was already beginning to slow and the loss of blood was not helping.

_Arya, I'm coming!_

Arya glanced up, her eyes meeting his. There was a moment of utter insight between them; when she attacked, he would cover her.

One of the men lashed out again with his sword, playfully, as if prodding a cow. Arya ducked beneath the blade with agile grace, dropping to her knees and thrusting the sword into his knee as she rolled to the side. The man crumpled, screaming, and Arya was again on her feet before the others could even register what had happened.

One of the two remaining lunged toward her, swiping at her midsection. Eragon watched, entranced, as she moved, snakelike, out of the way, dancing about him with as much grace as a serpent. Her sword seemed to find every weakness the man had, every opening, and lashed out at the appropriate times.

Eragon saw the second man circling behind her, preparing for an attack. Without thinking, Eragon ran to her aid, swinging the sword in a reckless arc; he was trying to get the man's attention, trying to get his focus away from Arya. It seemed to work. The man turned on Eragon with a sneering growl, parrying his attack with one of his own. The blades met, letting out a shower of sparks and noise.

Power-wise, Eragon dominated the man, shoving his sword off and going for a foot-sweet. The man jumped, surprising Eragon, and tried bringing the sword down in a side-arc. Eragon moved to the side, his sword catching the blade, flinging it off to the side and disarming him.

There was a moment of understand that seemed to flow through the man's eyes before Eragon shoved his sword into his heart. The understanding that death was not far from him, that he would never see his wife or children again. And then it was gone in the sea of pain that welled in his eyes as he fell to the ground.

Eragon backed up, finding his back flush against someone else. The scent of pine needles filled his senses and he murmured breathlessly, "How many have you killed?"

Arya, voice thick with adrenaline, whispered back, "I'm not sure. Ten, maybe fifteen… We need to keep moving. If we stay like this, they will try to circle."

Eragon shook his head. "Let them circle. We can cover one another. You are wounded and tired. You have been through much this night. Let me help you."

Arya closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could feel the enemy beginning to center around them, to blockade them in. This was pure madness, utter suicide. She needed to push him away, to get him out of the way.

"Alright."

Eragon smiled grimly at her acceptance, knowing fully well what it meant. She knew, as well as he did, that one elf and two men could not kill one hundred. Especially when one man could not see in the dark and the elf was fatigued from previous magical endeavors.

The two moved together, backs pressed firmly against one another. When one attacked, the other fell back and covered. It worked well at first, until the ranks began to close in even more and prod at their weak flanks. Eragon had received quite a few slices on his left and right side, feeling blood leaving him at an alarming rate.

"Arya!" Eragon yelled over the din. "Arya, this-"

"I know!" she called back, voice distressed yet regal. She lashed out at another foe, not seeming to accept the fact that there was no way for them to win.

It was then that a sudden noise, a sort of thunderous growl, erupted from what felt like the rocks around them.

_Get down._ The voice was cool and unhurried, but the words clicked. Eragon grabbed Arya's arm, pulling her to the ground and covering her body with his.

A burst of flame erupted around them. It suddenly felt as if the very mountain had been besieged with an inferno. Eragon felt the skin of his neck tighten under the assault of heat and his grip on Arya tightened.

It seemed to last for hours but was really only a few seconds. Soon the flames had died down to a gentle smoldering over dead and dying bodies. Eragon pulled himself slowly off of Arya, looking around him in confusion.

I'm sorry I was late, little one.

Eragon smiled, squeezing Arya's hand gentle. _You have impeccable timing, as always._

He could hear the unvoiced laughter in her tone as she murmured, _But if course. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a camp to burn down. _With that, she lifted her sizable bulk off of the ground and flew toward the empty encampment.

Eragon stood, helping Arya to her feet although he had no illusion as to her ability to do it herself. She took his hand, to his surprise, and murmured, "Let us make sure your cousin and child protégée have not injured themselves."

Grabbing Barzul, Eragon strode with Arya through the wreckage of burned bodies. The first peaking of dawn was coming up from the far hill, making the carnage look impersonal in its shades of gray. They found Roran being tended to by Abbila, who was showing expert skill at her healing magic. Eragon wondered, for the first time, how she had managed to learn so much in the past two months.

"She truly is a protégée, isn't she?" he asked Arya, who nodded ruefully.

_It is unnatural, Eragon, _she whispered, voice switching to the ancient language. _There is something she is hiding from us… something she is not voicing._

Abbila glanced up at that moment, offering them a weary smile. Her cheek held a small scratch, dried blood decorating the pale blue of her dress. Her smile flickered when she spied their joined hands, and she looked away. "Arya, you are injured. Eragon, will you tend to her so I may see your wounds? Hers look deeper and I have yet to master healing muscle tears."

"Of course," Eragon murmured, realizing how weak he was actually feeling. Now with the adrenaline leaking away, he was shaky and unsteady. Eragon lowered himself to the ground, Arya doing the same.

He quickly tended to his elven companion's wounds, allowing Abbila to heal his own. As she worked, her touched her mind hesitantly.

Abbila… it is good to see you again.

There was a brief silence before she replied, _I am glad to see you, as well… even if not under the best of circumstances. _She chuckled softly, wryly, before murmuring, _You looked upset when you and Arya came over. What is bothering you?_

Eragon tried to think of a way to phrase his worries. _Abbila… you show so much talent… more talent than you should at such an early stage. How… _He paused, not wanting to voice the question that almost slipped out. Instead, he changed the subject. _How are you and Briam getting along?_

_Just fine, thank you,_ she replied curtly. _We have been flying quite a bit recently and I have borrowed some scrolls from King Orrin and the witch Trianna._

Eragon's eyes widened, his hands faltering on Arya's cut. Arya glanced at him, head cocked to the side, trying to read his expression. Eragon quickly finished with her wound before responding to the girl. _I want you to stay away from her, Abbila. Trianna… Trianna is not someone who you should put your trust in._

_And why not?_ Abbila replied hotly. _It's not as if _you _are there to help me!_ There was a stretch of stunned silence before Abbila murmured, _I am sorry… forgive my impertinence. You have given me everything that you can and I abuse your kindness so…_

Eragon nodded, slowly, before murmuring, _Do not fret over it. We all have our outbursts. But… things will be hard from here on out. We are preparing for war; that gives us little time together, Abbila. _

Abbila pulled away. "Your wounds are healed," she murmured as she stood. "I will go get Briam ready for the return trip. Arya, who shall you fly with?"

Arya glanced at Eragon and then Roran before smiling faintly. "I shall ride with you, Abbila. But we must hurry; no doubt the Council is beside themselves with worry."

* * *

Author's Note:

As I said above in the pre-note, I feel very flattered to all of you for reviewing as much as you could for the last chapter. **Thank you all – you are tremendous**.

Love love,

E.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**The Passions of Men**

* * *

Eragon sat with Abbila and Roran in the silence of the oncoming morning. Saphira's large body draped over the rocky ground, head in Eragon's lap, thrumming happily as he stroked a hand over her spine ridges.

Briam was doing his best to pretend as if he were not watching Saphira.

Eragon smiled at that. _Saphira, _Eragon began slowly, _it seems your pupil is having a rather hard time keeping his attentions off of you._

_Hmm? _She hummed, tilting her head inward some, allowing his fingers to graze over her scaly cheek.

_Briam can't seem to keep his eyes off of you, _Eragon rephrased. With the teasing grin, he leaned closer, whispering aloud, "And isn't he about the age to become more… _aware_… of himself and other dragons?"

Saphira's eyes opened, seeming shocked, and her head shot up. _Eragon, by the Empire, I will kill you yet!_

Now Briam was not the only one staring at them. Arya glance over from where she had been sitting, back facing them, trying to contact Fellep. She raised an eyebrow; Eragon's only reply was a smile.

To Roran and Abbila, he explained, "I was just pondering the sudden interest B-"

The emerald dragon glared venomously at Eragon, as if sensing what he was to say. Saphira, however, huffed indignantly and cut him off. _Are we really so childish to be playing these games? _With that she turned and wandered over to where Arya was still lost in concentration. There wasn't much moving room on the small expanse of rock they were on, but it was enough to make it clear to Eragon that Saphira was upset.

Eragon sighed, excusing himself from his human and dragon companions, wandering over to where Saphira now sat and glanced over the flat plain of land. He spared a look over at Arya, whose eyes were closed and lips pursed. Reassured that he had not interrupted her mental speech with Fellep, he reached out and laid a hand on Saphira's massive foreleg.

_Saphira, I meant no disrespect with my words. I know how much it means to you to have another dragon here._

_I know, little one, _Saphira sighed, leaning down to nudge his shoulder with her nose. _I overreacted. I knew that you meant no harm. It is just the fact that… I suddenly know how Glaedr felt when I stalked him,_ she hummed, a hint of amusement entering her voice.

Eragon smiled, kissing the side of Saphira's face. _I love you, Saphira. And you shall have your mate… once he is big enough, _Eragon added, pleased when Saphira let out a little hissing bark of laughter.

Arya's eyes snapped open and she glanced over at them, seeming startled at their appearance. Eragon grinned guiltily at her. "I am sorry, Arya… did we break your concentration?"

The elf's startled expression faded, being replaced with a carefully neutral one. "No, of course not. I had just finished up with Fellep." She stood, making a head motion for them to follow her toward Roran and Abbila. When she arrived in front of them, Briam glanced up at her, eyes soulful.

_What do the elves say?_ He thrummed aloud, voice once again shocking Eragon. It was so grown, so sure of itself. It was as if he were older than Saphira, mature and collected.

"Fellep and the others are about three miles to the East," she replied simply, lowering herself to the ground gracefully, crossing her legs and resting her head un upturned palms. "Even if the Empire's scouts had attacked at dawn, we would still have ended up facing them alone for the better part of the skirmish."

"It is hard to believe that we felled one hundred men in less than an hour," Roran murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

"A large number of those kills belong to Saphira and Briam," Abbila added, stroking a hand down Briam's scales, which glittered iridescently in the sunlight. Eragon nodded his agreement. If it had not been for Saphira, he and Arya would have died where they stood, back to back, their only comfort being each other.

"So," Roran began, voice seeming a bit gruff, "what shall we do now?"

There was a long stretch of silence before Arya spoke. "We head back to the castle. Fellep and the others are already returning. Staying here is absolutely out of the question; your supplies are running low and there is no point.

"As far as the scouts that I sent out before leaving can tell, there is no movement of the main army. I have a feeling they are waiting for a message from their own scouts, which we have just annihilated. When it does not come, they will most likely send someone out to check on status. They will find Saphira and Briam's parting gift – a burnt out camp and charred bodies."

"After that, it is pretty obvious," Roran murmured, seeming to catch on. The main body will be informed that Eragon defeated the entire encampment, and then the main body advances. Another battle ensues." Roran sighed, glancing down at the rock beneath him. "Will it ever end?"

There was a long silence and then Abbila stood. "We are wasting time sitting here staring at our feet." She pulled herself onto Briam's back, who was now about half of Saphira's size. He had been growing quite nicely in their absence, it seemed.

"Aye," Eragon agreed, offering Arya his hand. She glared pointedly at him before standing on her own and striding over to Briam. She gracefully slid onto his back, glancing over at the men.

"I suppose we will see each other back at Borromeo, then." Arya then smiled, something strange shifting behind her eyes. Abbila grinned, as well, and Briam lifted off of the ground, pounding the air with his wings. Eddies of dust and grime flew up, pooling around Eragon and Roran.

"Why do I suspect that was done intentionally?" Eragon asked ruefully, wiping the grime from his face and climbing onto Saphira.

Roran soon joined him, chuckling. "If I look half as terrible as you do right now, I demand a bath before seeing Katrina."

Eragon grinned. "I'd get the bath even if you don't look half as bad as me. You certainly _smell_ horrible enough to make your wife queasy."

"I'm surprised Arya even allowed you to stand beside her, the way you reek," he returned, the playful banter coming as easily as it had when they were children.

_You two are dreadful, _Saphira chuckled as she lifted into the air, muscles working effortlessly to keep the above ground. She was soon speeding through the air, head lowered parallel with her body, creating an even streamline.

Briam's form soon came into focus, Saphira calling out a playful challenge that Briam readily accepted. The two dragons raced and floundered, pulling unreasonably daring aerial acrobatics and otherwise one-uping the other.

For one morning, at least, the two dragons played as free-spiritedly as they could. Who knew when the next time would be when they found themselves flying through the air without the fear of arrows piercing their wings?

…

"The lady is sick and had denied access of anyone into the room."

Those words met Nasuada's sensitive ears, causing something inside of her to clench. _The lady is sick… _

_I'm not sick, you fools, _she thought weakly, laying her sweat covered forehead against the cool edge of the porcelain chamber pot sitting beside her on the bed. _I am dying._

"I told you, the lady is sick – hey!"

"Nasuada!"

The sharp shout caused pain to lace through the young ruler's head, making her stomach clench again, painfully, before heaving the remainder of its contents into the basin. The sound of angry footsteps paused, hesitating, and then a soft, "Nasuada?"

That voice… that voice was so familiar.

"Murtagh?" she groaned, feeling as if she were about to pass out.

"No… Nasuada, it's me… Eragon."

Ah, the brother. Nasuada let out a little groan, and then a chuckle. _How odd that I would confuse them. _She felt the bed shift under added weight, and then a cool hand was resting on her forehead.

"Nasuada, tell me what it is and I may be able to cure it."

Cure it? _Oh, he thinks I am sick, _she thought restlessly. "The only way to cure what ails me, Eragon, is with a knife," she grumbled, trying to sound joking. That only brought on another wave of nausea. She was soon dry heaving, clinging to the chamber pot with one hand, Eragon's arm with the other.

"Nasuada, what-"

"Bring your elf, Eragon," Nasuada moaned, falling back onto her pillows. Her normally dark skin was a pale toffee and her body lay trembling, covered in a sheen of sweat. "This secrecy has gone on long enough."

…

Arya stepped into the room, already having an idea of what ailed the ruler. How could Eragon be as thick as to not recognize the symptoms -and after all Arya had revealed to him? Had he not considered Murtagh's suddenly frequent visits to the palace or Nasuada's undying affections for the man?

But then again, Eragon was a _man_, and in matters of women and children, men were severely lacking.

"Who is it?" Nasuada groused, eyelids fluttering opened and closed.

"Arya and Eragon," Arya spoke, gliding into the room purposefully. She sat down on the edge of the bed, right where Eragon had been not moments before, and reached out to touch Nasuada's cheek. It was chilly to the touch, the sweat on her skin cooling the fevered temperature.

"Can you heal it?" Eragon asked anxiously.

Arya let out a small sound; something between an exasperated sigh and chuckle. "Eragon… there is no cure for this." She met Nasuada's eyes, which had finally opened, and asked, "How long have you known, Nasuada?"

She glanced to the side. "Since early this morning… he came to me in a dream and…mentioned it."

Arya sighed, pulling back the sheets. Eragon, startled, let out a little cry of, "Arya, what are-"

Arya turned a pointed look at Eragon, hushing him. She glanced once again at Nasuada, who nodded hesitantly. Closing her eyes, Arya placed her hand, palm flat, against Nasuada's nightgown-covered stomach.

Eragon felt the power, although he could not see it. Arya was channeling magic into Nasuada's stomach, as if searching for something. It was then that everything seemed to click into place for Eragon.

"No," he whispered, eyes wide.

The Varden Ruler was pregnant – with Galbatorix's Rider's child.

_Saphira! _Eragon cried out, feeling worry gripping him. He knew that Saphira had been listening in on what was happening; he could feel her own worries, unspoken but felt nonetheless. _Saphira, if Galbatorix ever discovers the existence of this child…_

_He will do whatever is in his power to claim Rites over it, _Saphira agreed, her voice heady with anxieties. _He owns Murtagh, and in essence owns anything that Murtagh has; or anyone that Murtagh sires._

Arya was decreasing the amount of power flowing between her and Nasuada, trembling a bit with the effort to close the channel slowly and easily, not abruptly. There was no end to the risks when delving into another person's body with magic, and Arya certainly did not wish to harm the Varden Ruler.

Arya finally closed the channel and looked pointedly at Nasuada. "A child, barely two weeks old from my calculations."

Nasuada's eyes closed, tears slipping from beneath the lids. Whether tears of joy, fear or sorrow, Eragon could not tell. Arya leaned over, kissing the Ruler's forehead in an unexpected display of compassion and empathy. "Be strong," she whispered before pulling back.

"She needs rest," Arya murmured as she came to Eragon's side. "We should go speak with the council as soon as you are feeling up to it."

Eragon nodded. "I will go bathe and change and be down shortly. Shall we meet in the council room in an hour's time?"

Arya nodded. "An hour's time." She began to turn from him, to go her separate path, but paused. She turned back, her torrent of dark hair falling in loose, wind-blown waves. She seemed to be pondering something before she returned to his side, placing her hands on his dirt-flecked face, pulling him toward her.

This kiss was passionate, much different from the innocence interludes they had shared other times previously. Her lips were so full and cool, like that first drink of water after a long run through the desert. Eragon closed his eyes, mouth opening, his tongue finding its path in between her lips. Their tongues fought, wrestling, and their bodies closed the distance between them, seemingly without prompting.

Arya broke away from the kiss, breath coming out in a deep pant, and she whispered, "Bath. You need…a bath."

Eragon paused, his muddled mind taking a moment to register her words. He then chuckled, forehead pressing against hers. "Of course… that bath. I was distracted." He laid one last, gentle kiss on her lips before pulling back. He smiled at her before turning, heading down the hall to his room.

His heart fluttered, still amazed that such a woman had finally accepted him… that she still had so much finesse and power, yet could love someone as insignificant as him.

_You're hardly insignificant, _Saphira chimed in his mind, making him jump. She had been in his head that entire time? She chuckled, murmuring, _Oh, won't you hate it when my mate is big enough to become mine. _

Eragon's eyes widened. He had never thought of it that way. He retreated into his room without a word, sped on by Saphira's humored laugh.

…

Murtagh could take it no longer; it was eating him alive, having to watch everything fall into place, just as Galbatorix had planned it.

There was only one person that Murtagh trusted to foil these plans.

Closing the door to his small room, Murtagh took a deep breath, channeling all of his energies.

_Eragon… Eragon, can you hear me? _

* * *

Author's Note:

I am spoiling you all rotten!

Three chapter updates in one week – what has gotten into me?

Love love,

E.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Surprises Abound**

* * *

Eragon entered his room, smiling for what seemed like the first time since he had been given the gift and curse of being a Dragon Rider. He knew that was unfair to say; he had been granted just as many good moments as he had bad ones.

Yet, somehow, Arya had a way of making every other good moment seem dull in comparison to those spent with her.

_Oh, thank you, _Saphira murmured sarcastically, making Eragon laugh. _Good to know that I am so easily forgotten when your elf is around._

_What are you talking about, Saphira? You know that you are the only lady for me, _Eragon teased, removing his tunic and making a face at the filth coating his body. Weeks of living outdoors and fighting off one hundred men made for messy business.

_And you had better remember that, _Saphira grumbled good-humoredly. Eragon smiled when a knock on his door alerted him of the little serving girl he had stopped earlier. Opening the door, he murmured, "Thank you, I was wanting a hot bath before-"

What stood before him was definitely not the serving girl.

Trianna tilted her head to he side, smiling, long coils of dark hair spilling out of their confines and around her shoulders. "Hello again, Rider. It has been a while." She sauntered past him and into the room, carrying two buckets of hot water. She added these to his cold bath, warming the entire basin to scalding.

"Are you not going to bathe?" she asked innocently.

Eragon couldn't help the flush the rose on his cheeks. "Are you not going to leave?"

"Why, Eragon," she began, placing a disbelieving hand to her lips, "whoever would help you wash you back if I left?"

"Get out, Trianna," he murmured, willing himself to not give into her. He tried remembering all of the nasty tricks she had pulled in order to get close to him. He forced himself to feel the same hurt he felt the night she tried to seduce him. He forced himself to feel the rage that had overcome him when she had spoken badly about Arya.

"Eragon," she laughed, as if he were being funny.

"_Trianna, get out_!" he yelled in the ancient language, pointing at the door. The door flew open and, as if shoved out, Trianna stumbled toward the entryway. Eragon watched, wide-eyed, as his words took literal meaning and she was forced from the room.

"You will regret this, Eragon!" she cried before the door slammed shut.

More than a little unnerved, Eragon backed away from the door. After a few minutes, he thought it safe enough to venture toward the tub without fear of an attack from the estranged witch.

Discarding his boots, Eragon quickly removed himself of his breeches and slid into the delightful, steaming water. Eragon sighed as he lowered himself into the basin; he was quick to lean his head back comfortably against the wooden lip. He just wanted to laze in that water for the rest of his days, forgetting about all of the war and hatred.

As he lay in the water, he felt a sudden humming take up residence at the base of his skull. Confused, Eragon opened his eyes and glanced around. _What is- _And then there were voices, millions of voices, clamoring to be heard.

Eragon, fearing Galbatorix was trying to overtake his mind, began to throw up his barriers. Before he could, though, one voice rang out above the others.

_Eragon…Eragon, can you hear me?_

Eragon sat farther up, eyes widening. Hesitantly, he reached out. _Murtagh?_

_Yes. Eragon, I haven't much time, but I must tell you-_

_Nasuada's pregnant! _Eragon exclaimed before his brother could continue_. Murtagh, she's pregnant and there is no way to keep her out of Galbatorix's clutches if he demands rites of ownership!_

_I _know_, Eragon! That is why I was reaching out to you; to tell you just that. Eragon, it is up to you. I have tried killing her to keep her safe, but… I cannot. _

Eragon's eyes widened. _Are you suggesting that I-_

_Yes._

_No! I will _not_ kill Nasuada! _Eragon cried out bitterly. _She is all the Varden has!_

_And what will the Varden do when they discover their loyal leader has bedded Galbatorix's Rider and now sires his child? _Murtagh returned with just as much venom. _They will believe she has gone against them! _

Eragon closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. _You love her… don't you?_

…_Yes._

_Then how could you even imagine killing her?_

_Because I know what she would face if she were brought here, Eragon. _There was a long silence before Murtagh, chorused by all of those strange voices, sighed. _There _are_ things worse than death, and all of them can be found here in this palace. I must go now. Think on what I have said, will you?_

Eragon shook his head, murmuring, _I will not kill her. But I will protect her with my life._

_Then I suppose I can ask for no more._

The voices departed, all at once. The sudden silence in Eragon's mind left him feeling hollow and slightly alone.

…

Eragon was in the middle of dressing when a sharp rapping came on the door. Wary of another run-in with the sorceress Trianna, he called out, "Who is there?"

An estranged voice called back, "Eragon, boy, I have not the time for this foolish 'who is at the door' game. I am not that awful woman, so let me in."

Eragon could not help the small chuckle when he recognized the voice. Opening the door, he murmured, "Angela, I am really beginning to think you have the ability of precognition."

"Don't be silly," she said, giving him a fond smile and she bustled past him. "You are simply easier to read than an open book… and I saw the witch raving about her mistreatment to your young pupil."

Eragon started. "Abbila?" He cursed heavily, grabbing for his black tunic and tugging it on over a pair of pale brown doeskin breeches. "I told that girl to stay away from her."

"And good advice it was," Angela murmured, a soft smile on her face. "If, that is, Abbila were a normal girl."

Eragon turned to look at the wiry-haired woman standing before him. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Not sure, honestly. I just… feel strange when she is around. Solembum does, too," she added.

Eragon bit his lower lip. If there was one thing he had learned over the course of his travels, the witch and werecat were never wrong. Maybe a bit mystical or misguided, but never wrong.

"Who knows," Angela laughed, looping her arm through his. "All I know is that your ladies are waiting in the War Council room. I hear-tell of a ball celebrating your return and the defeat at the mountain."

Eragon's eyes widened. "A celebration? Who decided this? It's asinine; we barely have any food, any water, and we're in the midst of a war. Now we're to have a _party_?"

"Oh, stop being such a warrior all of the time," Angela muttered, tapping the top of his head as she led him out the door and toward the stairwell. "Most of the soldiers are worried; they know the final battle is on the horizon. Let them forget everything for a moment –allow them some small enjoyment."

Eragon nodded, begrudgingly accepting the truth in her words. Besides, perhaps a party would do something for his worries, as well.

_As long as there is mead, I am happy, _Saphira thrummed, as if having forgotten their last altercation with alcohol.

Eragon shuddered, deciding that he, at least, would keep his vow of never drinking at a party again.

…

Angela led him to the double doors leading into the War Council's meeting room. Before he could pull away, she kissed his forehead, motherly, and murmured, "You have a lot going for you, young one. You have a wonderful liege-lord, a loving cousin, and a beautiful, caring beau. Did I mention a supportive and life-long devoted dragon?" she added, smiling. "Do us all a favor; count your blessings… and then kick some Empire a-"

"Oh, Angela," Nasuada murmured from where she had cracked open one of the doors. "I thought I heard your voice. Would you care to join us?"

Angela smiled coyly. "No thank you, Your Highness. I must be off and on my way." She made a small bow to the leader and a curtsy to Eragon before wandering off toward the kitchen's scullery door.

Nasuada shook her head, looking slightly amused. "That woman is as mad as a hatter sometimes, but she fixes some wonderful raspberry tea." Nasuada stood aside, allowing Eragon to enter.

"You look much better," he noticed, taking in the healthy, dark color of her skin.

"Thanks, once again, to that tea," Nasuada alleged before closing the door. The room was surprisingly empty; only one other person occupied the large room, and she was lounging against the wall.

Arya smiled slightly at him, her skin glistening against the crimson of her tunic. "Tea?" she offered, holding up a small cup she held delicately between her hands.

"I am, unfortunately, not fond of raspberries," was his slightly teasing response as he lowered himself into a seat. Nasuada's cheer and the memory of Arya's kiss lightened his mood, pushing thoughts of battle from his mind – for the moment.

"I am afraid only Nasuada is special enough to have been given that scrumptious treat," Arya returned, her small smile never once fading. Instead, she pushed off of the wall and went to the small teacart in the corner, pouring a steady stream of pale honey-gold liquid into a third cup. This she brought to Eragon. "Simple peppermint," she explained.

The women both sat across from him, informal and very much like a social get-together. Nasuada spoke for a time about Murtagh promising her that, once Galbatorix was dead, handing the crown to someone more suited for the job than himself. Then he would take her as his bride and, with their child, making a life for them somewhere small and quiet.

Eragon smiled at the thought. He remembered his own home, so small that no one in hiding would even be found… like Brom.

Eragon winced, deciding to change the subject. He wished to speak with Arya about what Murtagh had asked of him, yet he thought it better to do so later when Nasuada was not in the room.

"I heard from Angela that there is to be a celebration tonight?" Eragon asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Arya looked surprised but Nasuada sighed and smiled. "Nothing can be kept a secret here, can it? Yes, there is. I wanted to tell you all about it now, as a surprise, but I suppose that is ruined. Orrin decided that it is past time you two were married."

"We were what?" Arya sputtered, losing all dignity and gaping at Nasuada. "Since when – what – how did – does that man even _know_ what he's talking about?"

Eragon glanced from Nasuada to Arya, and then back at Nasuada. "Nasuada, if I may be blunt," he began, trying to pick his wording carefully. "I understand that he means well… but elves do not marry. I am happy the way things are…" he glanced over at Arya, hoping for some kind of agreement.

Arya seemed surprised at his words, but pleased. "_We_ are happy the way things are. We know how we feel; we do not need rings or laws to consummate our ardor."

Nasuada smiled, the look genuine. "Good… because that is precisely what I told him, more or less. But he still insists that you two be the main theme of the ball; that and the fact that you, Eragon, killed one hundred men with your bare hands."

Now it was Eragon's turn to look stunned. "I _what_?"

Arya shrugged and, with a dry laugh, murmured, "Who knows where Orrin picks these things up. All I know is that he will let no one change his mind. He will not believe me when I say all of us fought, and even then it was the dragons that saved us."

Nasuada chuckled. "Who knows? What I do know, however, is that I must go get ready for this out-of-the-blue celebration. Arya, if you have the time, would you mind dressing with me tonight? My ladies in waiting can arrange to have a dress brought up for you."

Arya looked slightly upset at having to get dressed up, but nodded. "Of course, my Lady." She stood with Nasuada, giving Eragon a forlorn look. _You looked as if you needed to speak to me._

Eragon smiled slightly as he stood. _I did, but it can wait until this hellish ordeal or dancing and pretending begins. _He then bowed to each of them in turn. "Go and make yourselves more beautiful – if it is possible." And with that, he was left in the cold, once joyous room.

…

Eragon wandered into the main hallway, feeling silly in his finery. The black of his tunic and breeches melded perfectly with the newly died lambskin boots he had been gifted from King Orrin. He had trimmed up the stubble of a beard that had grown over his time spent away from the Varden. Katrina has insisted upon trimming his unkempt hair, as well, and then affectionately tended to Roran's unruly mop of hair and beard.

Now Eragon, clean, refreshed, and utterly worn out, stood at the foot of the royal staircase, glancing around him unsurely. High bred men and women milled about him in their finest, flirting demurely and casting him curious glances. A few came up to him and patted his back, warmly congratulating his achievements in battle. He tried arguing that Roran, Arya, Abbila, Saphira and Briam had been just as detrimental to their success. The nobles, however, only heard what they wanted to hear.

They continued to praise him until a soft voice murmured, "My, what a following it seems you have acquired, Argetlam."

He turned, meeting the cold, icy blue gaze of Trianna. Her expression was haughty and self-dignified as she strode past him. Her body was encased not in its usual form-fitting dresses, but leather riding breeches and a kid leather tunic. Her hair fell in dark ringlets down her back, bouncing with her quick gait.

"Excuse me," Eragon bade the confused nobles, forgetting all manners and running after the sorceress. "Trianna! Trianna, wait!"

Trianna turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "You did a terrible thing when you spited me, Rider. You may love that little elf of yours, but she hardly has the knowledge of the darker side of this palace. I certainly do. There are evil forces against you and they shall remain even after I leave."

Eragon's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She sneered, an eyebrow quirking upward. "So, you haven't realized? How terribly sad." Her mocking tone dripped with sarcasm as she turned away from him. "I am leaving now, Rider. You will have to find someone to take my place as head of the Du Vrangr Gata." She began to walk away but paused, her lips twitching into a smile. "If I may suggest a person to you – think of your little protégée, Abbila. I'm sure she's make a fine leader."

Trianna's laughter haunted Eragon as she turned from him, heading toward the stables.

Eragon turned, trying to puzzle out a meaning behind her words. What did Abbila have to do with this madness that she ranted about? And how was Abbila strong enough or sure enough of herself to lead the Du Vrangr Gata?

The thoughts vacated his mind, however, when he realized everyone around him had gone quiet. There were a few hushed whispers of 'oh, look at that.' Eragon, puzzled, looked around himself to see what could possibly have caught everyone's attention. He then followed their gaze to the stairs, his eyes widening.

A young woman graced down the stairs, her skin the muted white of milky quartz. Her dress was of the latest fashion and done in black, crimson and silver. The crimson corset had a strip of black running down the middle, silver buttons decorating the midsection. The full crimson skirt parted down the middle, showing layer after layer of silver tulle material. A single silver strip ran across the top of the corset, looping over her arms to serve as off-the-shoulder sleeves. Sheer, feathery draping hung from the silver, fluttering like translucent wings around her.

Her dark brown, nearly black hair had been pulled up in a coil of braids at the top of her head, an eruption of corkscrew curls falling from the center of it and down her back. Two elegantly pointed elven ears and the startling green eyes of Ellesmera caught Eragon's attention, as well as the sudden scent of crushed pine needles.

The apparition that was Arya treaded toward him, a smile on those perfect lips. She made a small curtsy to him, eyes sparkling. "Good evening, Sir Rider."

* * *

Author's Note:

Grahaha, hear me… groan? Cackle? What the hell was that, anyway?

Moving on: Gods, this story just keeps trucking, doesn't it? I'm still amazed that I'm still writing this thing. But yes, this chapter and the beginning of the next one are a bit on the cutesy fun side… simply because I needed a break from all the seriousness.

Love love,

E.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**Lady of The Flowers**

**FOREWARNING**

**Please read:**

This chapter contains a _lime_, also known as a graphic scene with sexual content. **IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THIS, DO NOT READ THAT PART – SKIP TO THE BOTTOM**. There is ample warning before the actual scene, so you will be able to read the first part without risking seeing stuff you don't want to.

Thanks-

E.

…

"Good evening, Sir Rider."

Those four, simple words made things in Eragon's body clench uncomfortably. She was too stunning for words; Eragon found himself gaping at her shamelessly, much to the amusement of the Royals around them.

"Go on," one helpful man called out, "kiss her, already!"

Eragon blushed, finally able to close his parted lips, and bowed down on one knee. He took one of her hands in his, kissing the knuckles, murmuring, "Good evening, Arya Svit-kona. You look… wonderful."

Arya laughed, the sound musical to Eragon's ears, and tugged at his hand. "Oh stand up. I am glad to see you are still the ineloquent farmer's boy I remember," she teased softly as he stood.

"Aye," he agreed, finding himself enjoying the slight wordplay and relaxing, even around such stuffy nobles as these. "Nothing can change my ways now, not even the exquisite sight of a young elf maiden." He offered her his arm, which she readily took, and meandered outside into the open breezeway.

A cluster of large gazebos and verandas had been set up in the large gardens for the outdoor party. This way, Orrin had reasoned, Briam and Saphira could join in on the festivities. The cool night air whipped through the rose-strewn, stone columns of the breezeway, making Arya's curls dance in the wind.

A gaggle of gardenias surrounded the exit of the breezeway, their scent hypnotic. Arya inhaled, lifting her face up to the scent; it no doubt reminded of her home. "I do not believe it," she said suddenly, breaking Eragon out of his silent reverie. The sight and sounds of the party were drawing nearer; hundred of torches lit the gazebos, which had all been made into small dance floors. Arya's eyes met Eragon's and she smiled. "I do not believe that you are the same farmer's boy. You are a poet at heart. You proved that with the lovely piece you wrote in Ellesmera."

Eragon smiled, glancing out over the crowds of mingling people. "Yes… I suppose. But I can only write, can only voice myself in such a manner, when in the City of Elves. Is that not strange?"

"No," Arya alleged. "Quite normal, in fact. I find little inspiration here, as well. But Ellesmera…" She closed her eyes, tilting her face up to the moonlight. Eragon watched as she was bathed in nature's beauty and felt himself fall in love with her upturned face all over again. "In Ellesmera, even the stem of a flower can become the subject of a great Ballad."

She caught Eragon watching her and chuckled softly, murmuring, "Come. I wish to dance with my Rider."

"We have danced before," Eragon reminded her as he led her toward one of the less populated pavilions. He snagged a crimson rose on his way, tucking it behind her ear. "At Hothgar's funeral."

"Yes," she agreed softly, a secretive smile on her face. "Yet we were not beaus then. I think you will find dancing with me now much more enjoyable."

"I would hope so," Eragon murmured, voice low as they approached the other couples milling about the cleared-off space. "Seeing as I was terrified that you might decide to unleash that renown elven fury upon me."

Arya smiled, stopping short, and Eragon moved to face her. His left hand locked with her right, his free hand slipping to her waist and pulling her closer. She smiled and whispered, "I would not say you are free from my anger just yet. You have been known to fall into periods of such denseness that I worry about Alagaesia's future."

_You should not tease him so, _a voice purred through their minds. Saphira, who seemed to be returning from the refreshment area, wobbled as she unsteady made her way toward them.

"Saphira," Eragon chided without much vigor, trying to keep the smile from his face. "Did you find it absolutely necessary to stop by the mead barrels?"

Arya raised an eyebrow, scanning the dragon up and down. The look on her face was part comical, part confused. "I never realized dragons could become inebriated."

Eragon grinned, a bit boyishly, and murmured, "Nor did I, until I found her standing on her hind legs and singing with dwarves."

Saphira snorted, sending a lance of flame into the sky. A few bystanders let out small squeals or cries of shock, backing away from the dragon. _I am not _inebriated. _I am simply… enjoying myself._

Arya chuckled, hiding her face on Eragon's shoulder. Eragon stiffened, feeling his body beginning to yearn for what it could not have… not, that is, until the war was over. He pulled away slightly, trying to ease into the motion and make it look nonchalant and unplanned. Arya did not complain and went back to exchanging pleasantries with the rather intoxicated dragon before them. Saphira seemed to be telling a tale of a one-legged dog she used to know; which, of course, was fabricated. Eragon had a feeling that if Saphira had ever known -let alone _seen_- a one legged dog, he would know about it, too.

_Go back to your dancing, _Saphira said suddenly, as if having forgotten that she had been in the middle of telling a rather senseless story of an aimless, one-limbed canine. _Make merry and… and… yes, make merry!_

Arya shook her head, watching as the dragon wandered off to find some more drink. "She certainly does not hold back."

"Of course not," Eragon laughed, pulling Arya back to him. The dance had slowed considerably; what had once been a spirited ballroom jig was now a slow waltz. "She lives for the moment; that is all we have, after all," he continued, hating how philosophical he sounded. "All we have is now…"

Arya stared at him, her dark green eyes reminding him so much of the Elven forests. He wanted to look away, unnerved by the depths in her stare, but he could not tear his gaze away. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, when a sudden shout broke out through the crowd.

"Eragon!"

The two turned, breaking apart yet still holding hands. Abbila was standing off to the side of the square, waving at him. She then stopped abruptly, blushed, and put her hand down.

Arya made a soft noise at the back of her throat. "I see the young one finally remembered where she was and what nobles think of such outbursts."

Eragon smiled. "She acts like a child, even after all she has seen… Innocent. It makes me wish that I could be that way sometimes." He looked at Arya out of the side of his eye, murmuring, "But then I would never have been able to share moments like this with you, would I?" Taking in her look of surprise, he smiled again, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. "Let us go say hello to her, shall we?"

Abbila beamed as they approached, her gaze lingering on Arya for a fraction longer than they should have, her grin slipping a bit. She fiddled with the long, billowing green sleeves of her mint-colored evening gown, murmuring, "You two look so perfect together. I am envious that I have no one to share this moment with."

Eragon offered a soft grin to her, murmuring, "Abbila, you will find someone. But for the meantime," he began, voice taking on a teasing lilt, "King Orrin looks like he could use a dancing partner."

Abbila looked horrified at the suggestion. "And die from lack of oxygen because he must take it all in, in order to keep his constant flow of words from dying off?"

Neither one seemed able to control their laughter, both at Abbila's words and her expression of mortification. "Oh, dance with Eragon," Arya offered with her kind eyes, glancing over at her partner. "I believe I can sacrifice him for a while."

Eragon looked at Arya, truly looked, and saw the softness in her gaze, hiding just behind that hardened warrior. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, still holding her hand, and murmured, _You do her a favor, and she probably does not even realize it._

_I know what it is like to be a young girl, _Arya alleged, pulling away and watching as Abbila practically tugged Eragon back toward the gazebos. _No adolescent should be forced to feel alone, forced to watch as others have their fun._

There was history behind Arya's words; Eragon could feel it. He deiced now, however, was not the time. Now he would concentrate on Abbila and make her feel special. Gods knew that she had not been doted upon growing up; perhaps, between Eragon, Arya, and Nasuada, she would have fun years ahead of her.

…

Eragon danced well into the night, switching partners every other song. First it had been his lovely protégée clad in her mint-green dress; then Eragon danced with the dark skinned, vibrant mother-to-be Nasuada, who wore a pale purple tulle dress of absolute beauty. Next was Katrina, wearing a pale pink gown much like Arya's in make.

Yet none of these women, in Eragon's mind, could rival the one he danced with last.

Arya was made for him, he decided. Either that, or he had been made for her. There was such a deep connection there, such complex varieties of emotion, all shoved into one. Being around her made it hard for him to think, but without her he could not stop tracing every curve of her face in his mind's eye. There was no escaping from her, but escape was the last thing on Eragon's mind.

"Are you all right?" Arya asked suddenly, her voice interrupting his thoughts and making him stumble in the dance.

"Yes, I feel wonderful," he murmured, still smiling like the fool that he was. "Just a little light-headed."

"Of course," Arya murmured, a faint smile tweaking her lips. "It is only normal that you would feel faint while deep in thought; it happens so infrequently."

Eragon felt his jaw drop a bit in surprise. Was Arya teasing him? His shocked expression turned to a smirk as he twirled Arya around before pulling her close. "That was cruel."

"I can hardly be nice at every moment," she replied smartly. "What sort of elf would I be if I was polite all of the time?"

"A rare one, that is certainly the truth," Eragon laughed, spinning her out once again. Arya laughed and they shared a moment of casual banter that really made no sense other than taking their mind off of the coming morning.

The party was dwindling on; most had gone to bed, but the rare few soldiers, Abbila, Briam, and Saphira remained.

"Eragon and Arya seem oblivious to time," Nasuada murmured as she ran her fingers through her long hair. She turned her eyes to Islanzadi and smiled faintly. "I wish your daughter and Eragon the best of luck. It is hard losing a Rider such as him, but I am glad he will be happy."

"You have hardly lost him, my dear Varden," Islanzadi murmured, her voice soft. She had taken up calling Nasuada 'Varden' based on her rule over so many; if anything was to be done, Nasuada was the one to do it. It had become a sort of teasing, honorable nickname for the dark-skinned woman. "He still honors and respects you; perhaps more so now than before. Besides," she murmured, shifting so that her dark plum gown altered to an iridescent green, "he would still lay his life down for the Varden and for you. That has not changed."

Nasuada glanced vaguely to where Eragon and Arya had slipped to the refreshment table, a hand on her flat stomach. She seemed to catch the action and pretended to smooth out her dress. "In any event, I am glad to say I have known him… and glad to say that he has brought much hope to the lives of so many."

Briam and Abbila, also near the refreshment table, seemed to be more gleeful than anyone had seen them before. The reason lay beside them in an open cask of wine. Briam took a long draft from the open cask and Abbila drank from a large wooden tankard. Her cheeks were flushed and, as Eragon and Arya passed by, she called out, "Arya!"

Arya turned, catching sight of the girl, and nearly failed at keeping a small grin off of her face. "Yes?"

"Arya, I…" Abbila paused, as if confused, and murmured, "I forgot what I was saying."

Arya nodded, amused, and Eragon spoke up. "That is a common symptom of too much drink. Perhaps you should stay away from the wine for a while."

Abbila nodded, only to turn to Briam and say, quite loudly, "Stop hogging it all! I need another tankard full!"

"Should we stop her?" Eragon asked, turning to the smiling elf beside him.

"Experience is the best remedy for mishaps," was Arya's only reply. She turned away from the display before them, going to the refreshment table and asking the servant there for two glasses of water. As they waited, Arya spoke. "Where is Saphira, then? I see all of the others, but our dear sapphire friend seems to have departed."

Eragon reached out with his mind, murmuring, _Saphira… are you all right?_ His only response was a flicker of dream and thought. He smiled, turning back to Arya. "She seems to be sleeping off her intoxication."

Arya smiled, accepting the waters that the servant brought back and handing one to Eragon. "That is good. So, tell me Eragon, what time shall we go our separate ways and leave the dwindling party?"

Eragon opened his mouth to answer but paused, listening. There was a recognizable sound coming from a ways off; a sound that Eragon found distractingly familiar. "Arya, do you hear-"

And then there was the sickening twang of a bowstring being released. The sound of air being sliced in half made Eragon's insides freeze in a single instant. He grabbed Arya, who had also stiffened, and pushed her to the ground.

The arrow just nicked Arya, cutting a slender line across the pale of her arm. Eragon, however, felt the full force of its flight. He grunted, jerking as the arrow hit his shoulder. Someone let out a shocked cry and soldiers were suddenly everywhere, rushing everyone inside and assembling guards to secure the perimeter.

Eragon grabbed Arya's hand and, flanked by three soldiers, headed into the castle. "I need to find Saphira," Eragon murmured, glancing around frantically. _Where is that dragon! _Eragon thought to himself, feeling despair creeping up. _Saphira!_

"Your dragon was in her roost an hour ago, sleeping," one of the guards supplied helpfully. Eragon relaxed, knowing that no harm would come to her if she remained in the roost. "Let us get you to the healers," the soldier murmured, seeming worried about how badly it might look on his reputation if Alagaesia's savior died while he was around.

"It is only a shoulder wound, it will be fine," Eragon murmured truthfully, although the arrow was painful.

Arya, who had been silent through the entire attack, placed a hand on Eragon's uninjured arm. "Let me heal it and then we will go see Nasuada."

Eragon nodded, offering her his shoulder. She pulled the arrow out, thankful that it was not a barbed head, and murmured "_Waise heill_." She then glanced up at him, her dark eyes meeting his, and whispered, "That arrow was meant for me, wasn't it?"

Eragon glanced away, tooth coming down on his bottom lip. "I am not sure. It would have hit you; that I do know. Perhaps the archer had bad aim."

Arya shook her head, turning away. "No… the archer was perfect. He or she would have been forced to use a long-distance bow, which are much harder to control, in order to remain hidden and still penetrate the castle garden walls."

There was a shout from down the hall and a soldier streaked toward them. "Argetlam, Lady Arya, Lady Nasuada wished me to inform you that the traitor has been caught! He was climbing down the sycamore outside of the garden wall. Trying to escape, we gather."

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "Traitor… is he known to us?"

The guard licked his lips, as if worried, and murmured, "No, sir. He was one of the nameless in our ranks; a lowly soldier who had never seen battle." The soldier paused, as if scared to speak any more of it. "He says… he says he did not mean to hit you, Argetlam. He was aiming for… for Lady Arya."

Arya nodded, glancing at Eragon. "I expected as much. The man has a problem with elves, I gather?"

The guard looked puzzled before shaking his head. "No, ma'am. His closest friend in the ranks is an elf from Ellesmera. We do not understand why he has done this… yet, we did find this in his tunic," he continued, handing a small pouch to Eragon.

Eragon took the heavy pouch, which jingled with quite a bit of change. Eragon glanced inside, eyes widening. "Gold pieces… at least thirty." He glanced up, eyes wide. "Someone paid him, and well." The guard nodded.

Eragon closed his eyes, handing the pouch back to the man. "Thank you for alerting us. Is Nasuada dealing with the man?"

The soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. He is to be killed for attempted assassination on one of Ellesmera's delegates. Lady Nasuada extended the invitation to you both if you wished to see it done… Yet she says you may need your rest more," he added.

Eragon glanced at Arya, who looked lost in thought. She then nodded, seeming preoccupied. "Yes… rest is in order. I do not wish to see bloodshed on a night that had been going so well. Good evening to you," she bade him, inclining her head.

The man bowed deeply. "Good evening, then, my Lord and Lady." With that he was off, no doubt to serve Lady Nasuada's countless other orders.

Eragon turned to Arya, worry etching across his brow. He took her arm under his, whispering, "Will you allow me to escort you to your room?"

Arya nodded. "Of course."

Silently, the two headed for the back stairs leading toward the guest quarters of Borromeo Palace.

…

Arya's day had taken a sudden nosedive toward maddening. She had been cautiously optimistic about the party as she and Nasuada had been dressed and pawed over by her Ladies in Waiting. At the party, she found that everything seemed to go more smoothly than even Nasuada had imagined.

That is when she had made the mistake of relaxing.

Everything had gone so effortlessly – the band played all of the right songs, Eragon was the perfect mix of boyish charm and easy grace, and everyone had been smiling. Most of all, her mother. Arya had not missed the look of knowing in the older elf's eyes; it was as if Islanzadi could feel how relaxed Arya had become around her new beau. It was as if Islanzadi knew exactly how tremulous Arya's thoughts and personal wants were.

There was no denying it, Arya realized as they walked, arm in arm, toward her room. She _wanted_ him. The attraction had been there for a long time, the ardor only a month. Yet her biological clock was ticking and she could feel her feminine instincts crying out. She wanted children, even though there were battles, even though elves were not as fertile as humans, even though there was no real assurance that she and Eragon would live through this war.

Her bedroom door loomed in front of her, imposing and utterly malevolent. It seemed to be mocking her as Eragon withdrew from her, murmuring, "I had a nice time tonight. Thank you for everything, Arya Svit-kona."

Arya took a deep breath –out of annoyance, she told herself, even though she knew it was much, much more. "I asked you to refrain from calling me that, Eragon. It isn't fitting if we are a pair bond, after all."

Eragon smiled but it seemed forced. That is when he voiced what both of them were dwelling on. "We are hardly a pair bond yet, Arya." He leaned in, lips feathery soft as they brushed her cheek, and whispered, "Good night." He turned, beginning to walk toward his room.

Arya started, watching him depart. She sighed, running a hand over her bared arm and shook her head. "Why is this ever so complicated?" she asked no one in particular before retreating into her own room. This called for planning.

**…**

**THIS IS WHERE ANYONE NOT WANTING TO READ A LEMON NEEDS TO SKIP DOWN TO THE AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**…**

Arya had paced her room for the better part of an hour, milling over what to do. Her sensible side told her to go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea in order to calm her frazzled nerves. The other side of her told her to go to Eragon's room and show him she was hardly a prude.

_Stop it, Arya,_ she thought to herself venomously. _You cannot complicate things any further!_

_But isn't that what you're doing? _Her other side quipped. _By denying him his wants and needs, you are only making him dwell on it more so. If you simply give in to what you both desire, your bond will be completed. You will no longer have these torn feelings and he will no longer wonder if you truly love him._

"Stop it," Arya whispered aloud, placing a hand to her forehead. "Just stop." Her thoughts were quiet for a time, giving Arya a moment of solitude. She sighed again, going to the door. She had made up her mind.

If Nasuada had given everything up for a single night, who said Arya could not do the same?

_That reasoning is just _screaming_ for someone to prove me wrong, _Arya thought wryly, unable to keep the faint smile from her lips.

The corridors were cold and smelled of oncoming rain. Arya caught sight of herself in a passing windowpane, wincing a bit at her appearance. Her hair had lost its perfect curl, hanging in loose waves, and her dress seemed less splendorous as it hung from her thing body.

_I cannot believe I am going to him looking like this, _she thought to herself with a sudden hint of unease. _I should turn back… this is ridiculous. I am going back to my room._

Before she could so much as turn, a voice called out form behind her. "Well, well, what are you doing out and about? I thought you were remaining in your room tonight… or is it someone else's room you are slipping off to?"

Arya closed her eyes, counting mentally to ten. Why oh why did this woman seem to know everything? "Good evening, Angela," she managed to murmur, all the while cursing the woman to the deepest depths of some unknown dungeon.

"Oh, do not waste your elven politeness on me," Angela quipped as she walked by, the little werecat at her heels. "I just wished to tell you that everyone already believes you two pair-bonded. Why deny your feelings for one another?"

Arya narrowed her eyes. How did this woman do it? "There is a war-"

Angela glanced around her before saying coyly, "I do not see one." She smiled before reaching out, patting Arya's arm gently. "Go on, then. Go make your boy a man."

Arya's eyes widened and she looked away, hating her even more as she laughed at the elf's unease. The wiry-haired woman finally bustled off, leaving Arya alone in the dark hallway. The elf ran a hand over her bare arm, chilled, and murmured, "No matter how I hate to admit it, she is right."

Arya paused again outside of his door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She needed to go to him as a self-possessed, sure young woman. She needed to be dominating at first, to let him know she wouldn't back out, that she really wanted this.

Arya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the door. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her, hearing the soft click of it closing.

"Who is there?" His voice was calm but Arya heard the soft scrape of metal against cloth. He was reaching for his sword, drawing it from its scabbard. "Step into the light and show yourself."

Arya smiled softly, her feet daintily padding across the stones and into the spill of moonlight at the foot of the bed. The glassless window offered a faint breeze that ruffled her hair, making her shiver slightly.

"Arya?" his voice was slightly breathless, as if she had caught him by surprise. "Is something the matter?"

"No," Arya answered, tripping out of the light and toward the darkened bedside. Her heart was pounding, much as she imagined Eragon's was. She barely heard her name leave his lips in that questioning way of his. She didn't heed his question as to what she was doing.

Arya lowered herself onto the bed, trying to ease her way across the bed gracefully. It turned out to be quite a chore, seeing as the dress had so many layers of skirts and they kept tripping up her knees. Eragon backed up slightly, eyes like saucers of pale blue in the moonlight. "Arya, what…?"

Arya was upon him, finally, crawling between his legs, feeling the sheets shift under her dress. She leaned forward, lips catching his in a kiss that could almost be described as brutal. Eragon sputtered against her lips, confused, before pulling away from her quickly.

"Who are you?" he demanded, something close to anger in his eyes.

Arya blinked, also confused for a moment. She then remembered that many sorceresses, witches and elves alike knew how to shift their forms into something else for a short time. He suspected her to be someone else. Arya smiled, the look no doubt unusual on her features. "I am Arya," she whispered in the ancient language. "The one of whom you painted the firth of, the one who took you running over the shifting sands of the desert. I am your pair-bond."

Eragon gazed at her with something akin to amazement. He reached out, touching her cheek delicately with three fingers. "How…" his voice faded off, the question clearly writ upon his eyes. _How did this change come about? Why are you suddenly in my bed, kissing me with more passion than you ever have?_

Arya leaned forward again, lips catching his. The kiss was slow, full of exploring tongues and restless hands feathering over bare and covered skin. One of Arya's hands slipped down to Eragon's hip, shocked to find it bared and Eragon seemingly nude under his sheet. She pulled away, slightly, her voice catching in her throat. "Help me unlace my corset."

"Arya… are you sure?" There was a tremor in his voice; not from fear, but from lust. She smiled softly, turning to sit with her back to him. She lifted her hair away and over her shoulder, fingering the soft loks of hair as Eragon's shaky fingers went to work on her corset.

Halfway down, his knuckles brushed a small exposed line of flesh over her spine. Arya shuddered, feeling her muscles loosen and tighten. She felt something deep within her abdomen sudden catch spark, little electric tingles shooting through her.

Eragon was having a similar reaction; only he was more affected by it. His fingers ripped t the rest of the strings, eliciting a small, startled cry from Arya's throat. Her corset fell, now rendered useless, from her body. Arya closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, calculating the next move. Eragon was a virgin, and as such forced her to take the lead.

Or so she had thought.

She felt Eragon move up behind her, his arms curving around her body, face pressed against the crook of her neck. His fingers, still trembling lightly, traced over the skin of her abdomen and belly with feather-light flicks. They moved upward, erotic in the oddest of ways, flicking over the heavy swell of her breasts, teasing her nipples with faint flicks, and then rose to her shoulders. Arya took a shuddering breath, eyes closing, feeling the small spark in her abdomen taking shape, becoming a smoldering fire.

"Eragon?" she asked, voice lilting and wavering. She was shocked at the effect a few mere touches had on her.

"Shh," he whispered in her ear, kissing the sensitive spot just behind it. There was faint stubble over his chin, which grazed her shoulder and made her cry out softly. Every movement his lips made seemed to burn on her skin, leaving invisible marks of passage.

He finally turned her to him, glancing down at the full skirt. He cast a fleeting look up to her eyes again, a faint grin on his lips. "I have decided to break my suave appearance and simply say it: I have no idea how to get that thing off."

Arya laughed, feeling whatever tension she had melt away. She raised herself onto her knees, well aware that his eyes were not on the skirt any longer. She felt his gaze sweep over her breasts, partially hidden by the tumble of dark hair. Take his hands and pulling him up to his knees before her, she whispered, "Watch and learn so this will not happen next time."

_Next time… _and there inlaid her promise to be true to him and only him; her promise to come back to him, to be his true pair bond.

He blushed faintly, eyes lowering to the skirt. She guided his fingers to the left side first, unhooking each clasp there before moving to the right side. Soon the material slid down her thighs with a soft sigh, leaving her bare and kneeling in a pile of black and crimson silk.

Eragon's eyes swept over her, pausing at each strategic vantage point, before he looked into her eyes. He reached out to her, brushing a hand over her cheek. "You are beautiful," he whispered in the ancient language, voice wavering with emotion.

Arya softened, leaning in and kissing him delicately. He returned the gesture, hands caressing over her as he lowered her to the bed. Arya closed her eyes; her fingers were gentle on his back, kneading the skin as she whispered, "I love you."

Eragon paused in his kisses, glancing up at her. His face showed the words that she had just spoken in the ancient language. She truly loved him. His kissed her neck before whispering, "And you know how I feel for you –too much ardor for the spoken word."

Arya smiled once again before murmuring, "I am yours tonight… and every night to come."

…

Author's Note:

**A** **NOTE** **ABOUT** **THE** **END** **OF** **THECHAPTER**… I realize that no everyone is comfortable with sex scene, even if they are small ones such as this. To save my own ass, there was a forewarning at the top of the chapter.

Anyway, review please!

Love love,

E


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**UnMasked**

* * *

The soft glow of the morning sun caressed the smooth white sheets and exposed skin on the bed. Eragon's eyes adjusted to the light, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the new day.

He could already hear the men in market going about their duties, setting out their wares and beginning the haggling of prices with early customers. The scent of freshly baked bread, most probably wafting from the open bakery door just a few houses away from the palace, drifted up to his nose. The scent was intoxicating; spiced with cinnamon and cardamom, no doubt, with a touch of sugar.

Eragon closed his eyes, tilting his head back, enjoying the melodic sounds of voices mingling in the courtyard and then, distinctly, the soft breath beside him.

The thin, agile mass that was Arya lie beside him, dozing in a way only the elves could. It was most akin to a catnap – the half awake, half dazed laziness that came with sunny days.

_You are being rather poetic this morning, _a disgruntled voice growled in his mind.

Eragon smiled faintly. _Good morning, precious. How did the night of drink sit with you?_

Saphira snorted her irritation. _Be glad that I have too much of a pain within my skull to come down there and beat that smugness out of you. _

_Be nice, _Eragon chided cheerily.

_Oh, how disgusting, _Saphira groaned. _You are basking in the afterglow, aren't you? You are! You can't even get offended without giggling!_

Eragon couldn't help the small blush that graced his cheeks, followed by a satisfied smile. His arm, draped casually over Arya's slim waist, tightened without meaning to; a slight pressure to alert her of their remaining proximity, reassuring him of the same thing.

_You will understand, _Eragon began, unable to help teasing her, _when the little Briam is old enough to show his affections._

Saphira growled something rather unladylike, making it clear she wished to hear no more. Eragon only smiled, murmuring, _You know I love you and am only teasing._

_Oh hush, _was her response. _Go back to your elf and let me recuperate in peace._ There was a faint smile in her voice, however, and Eragon withdrew from her mind, coming back to present time.

Arya seemed to have awoken, now sprawled regally across the pale sheets, her hair fanning out in all directions. She smiled lazily at him, green eyes darker than he had ever seen them. "How is the other woman?" she asked with a dim laughter in her voice.

Eragon grinned, tilting his head lower on the pillow so that he could meet her eyes without difficulty. "Suffering a terrible hangover, it seems," he answered. He still had the faint trembles from last night; just the fact that Arya was close to him, breathing the same air, sharing the same bed… it was a delighting fact; something Eragon had never expected to transpire in such a short time.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and pulled her close, her head tucked under his chin. Arya allowed the show of affection, snuggling close and letting out a small sigh of contentment.

At least try to keep the romantic talk to a minimum, please, Saphira groaned. I'm not sure I could take it.

Eragon grinned, arms securing around Arya and enveloping her. He had never realized how tiny her body truly was – such a killer force shoved into that little muscled mass. They lay like that for close to an hour, not speaking, simply enjoying one another's closeness. It was then that a pounding came on Eragon's door, making both of them start.

Arya sat up, pulling the covers along with her, and let out a small sigh. "It is to be expected," she grumbled, rubbing a hand over her face. Eragon took a moment to admire the curve of her exposed back before standing. He reached for his breeches, lying carelessly over a wooden-backed chair beside his bed, and donned them. He noticed Arya watching him, much in the same way he had her, and smiled. How in the world had he been blessed with her?

He went to the door, opening it just a pinch. He was startled to see Abbila standing before him. He opened the door a bit wider, trying not to appear rude. "Abbila, what is it? It's rather early in the morning-"

Abbila looked at him strangely before answering slowly, "It is nearly noon, Eragon. Nasuada asked me to call you down to the council room – it seems some of her mages were able to extract information from the traitor who tried to kill Arya."

Eragon felt more than heard Arya dressing behind him – in what, he wasn't really sure. Her evening gown was certainly too complex for her to put on alone. He resisted the urge to look behind him and said, "Wonderful. We will be down shortly."

"We?" Abbila asked, confused, but it was then that Arya came up beside Eragon, her hair in a pleasant disarray, wearing a tunic from Eragon's trunk.

"Has Nasuada learned who paid the man?" Arya asked calmly, as if it were quite normal for her to be in Eragon's room thus dressed.

Abbila's eyes widened and something flitted behind those pale orbs. The expression was gone, however, and Abbila looked away. "I know not. You will have to speak of that to Nasuada." She mumbled a goodbye hastily and departed, her new woolen dress fluttering with her rush.

Eragon glanced at Arya, seeing the understanding in her eyes. _She likes you, _Arya sighed mentally. …_This will certainly complicate things._

_Oh, of course; as if our lives were not complex enough, _Eragon countered ruefully, going to find a tunic in the trunk Arya had rummaged through. He produced one, pulling it over his head, before murmuring, "Go get dressed and I will shave. Then we may go down to the council together."

"Alright. Until then," she replied, going to pick up her discarded dress and giving Eragon a quick kiss. Almost as quickly as Abbila, the elf was out of Eragon's room and hurrying away. This departure, however, made Eragon smile in a dejected way. There was always such an emptiness that opened inside of him whenever Arya left his side. It had only intensified since last night.

_Last night… _The thought made Eragon shiver in heady anticipation whenever he remembered it. Last night had been perfect; they had made love, slowly and gently, over and over again. They only paused between those moments to catch their breaths and kiss chastely as they recovered their spent energies.

Arya's lips had made a promise that her voice had only hinted at; their futures were intertwined.

Eragon quickly shook himself out of his mental reverie, cleaning his face at the washbasin in the corner. He then cast the simple spell that caused the small stubble at his chin to vanish. Cleaned, refreshed, and now smooth faced, Eragon pulled on his boots and moved to the corridor outside. He saw Arya leaving her room, noticing –not for the first time- that it was as if their actions were practically synchronized.

Arya turned to him, smiling. She wore a pair of black breeches and Eragon's own tunic. The tunic had been cinched at the waist, giving shape to it and her body. The style was decidedly masculine, and yet Arya pulled it off flawlessly.

Wordlessly, he went to her. Instead of offering her his arm, he took her hand in his. It was a much more intimate gesture, more of a consummation of their bond. She offered him a small smile before they began their trek downstairs and toward the council.

…

Nasuada rubbed her temples, feeling her stomach rebelling against the breakfast her lady-in-waiting had forced upon her. She felt as if every part of her innards had melted and were in the sluggish process of trying to heave themselves out of her throat.

The imagery in that thought caused the dark skinned ruler to shudder, glancing over to her right. Murtagh was leaning against the wall, his composure absolute and detached. His hand itched to go for his blade, itched to save Nasuada from her oncoming doom by taking her life. Yet he couldn't. Galbatorix had found every loophole that he possibly could in order to make sure Nasuada remained whole and intact for the final battle.

"He will not kill me, Murtagh," Nasuada whispered, more to herself than to him. "Especially not now that he knows I am pregnant. You know how Eragon is."

"I _know_," Murtagh responded, voice snappish. He paused, however, taking a deep breath. "Forgive me. I should never be cross with you."

Nasuada hardly had enough heart to shrug it off. Instead she looked away from his face, which was now a maze work of healing and blossomed bruises. How he could stand up with such an air of haughtiness while sporting a beaten, tattered body, Nasuada would never know.

"…Thank you," he murmured suddenly, sounding unused to the formalness – unused to it, as well as angered by it. His temper seemed to flare up again and he added coldly, "For taking me in last night, even though you know I would kill you if I could."

Nasuada glanced over at him again, her lips drawn into a firm line. "Murtagh… do not even _attempt_ to play 'the lover scorned' with me. You are correct; you did not choose your fate. This I do realize… Yet you certainly do not have to act like the world has turned against you."

Murtagh looked away from her piercing black eyes, shaking his head. It was then that a mental lock snapped off and Nasuada realized what was happening. Murtagh did think that the world had turned against him.

Nasuada stood, the motion fluid and malevolent. She was abruptly standing before him, grabbing the collar of his tunic, shaking it a bit. "What has happened to you?" she asked, her voice a harsh whisper. "Where is the Murtagh I remember? The Murtagh who was enthralled with the written language? The Murtagh who was happy as long as he had my company, his scrolls, and Eragon close at hand? What happened to him?"

"He died in Galbatorix's torture room," Murtagh spat, seeming fed up.

"Well then bring him back!" Nasuada returned, eyes blazing, "Because I cannot stand this pale imitation of a human being standing before me! I cannot stand this 'woe is me' self loathing I see every time I look into your eyes!" She released him, her anger boiling on the surface of her visage. "The world hasn't turned on you, Murtagh," she snapped. "_You_ have turned on yourself."

Murtagh looked off to the side, his battered face set in an angry glare. "You don't know what it was like down there. You will never be forced to experience the pain that he inflicted on me."

Nasuada shook her head, a rueful smile stretching across her face. "You're right. But I have felt my heart ripped out of my chest and handed back to me. This is what you do to me every time we are together, Murtagh. Why is it you can no longer be as you were when you came to me that night?" She saw a flicker of something pass through the corner of his eyes, and then he was trying to walk around her, to get away.

"Murtagh, you coward!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the large room. "Why can you not show me love!"

Murtagh's back went rigid, his hand clenching into a fist. "There is no place for us in this world, Nasuada," he murmured finally. "I have come to terms with this fate that has been forced upon me. You and I are enemies… And Galbatorix will ensure that you die… most likely by my hand in the Great Cathedral." Murtagh laughed, the sound harsh and biting. "Galbatorix is one for theatrics, you see. He would enjoy your blood being spilled in our Holy Tower."

"You have not accepted your fate, Murtagh, or you would not be here."

Arya and Eragon had entered soundlessly through a back passage behind Nasuada. Murtagh turned, eyes flashing, as he came to see who had spoken. "Arya," Murtagh growled a small greeting, if it could be called that. "Still slipping about in the shadows, I see."

"Shouldn't we say that about you?" she countered easily, green eyes showing no hint of anger or irritation. "Entering people's dreams, sneaking into Borromeo Castle in the middle of the night to seduce to Varden ruler?"

Murtagh glared but refused to respond. He noticed, however, that Arya and Eragon's hands were entwined casually. He smirked, remarking coolly, "I see you two have improved your relationship since we last spoke, Arya _Svit_-_kona_." The title was sarcastically used, as if trying to cause a friction in Arya.

The elf, however, was not flustered in the least. "And it seems you two have worsened yours." She watched Murtagh bristle, hand going for his blade, when Eragon broke free of her and stepped forward.

"Murtagh… please."

Those two simple words seemed to calm the man. He released his grip on Zar'roc's sword, smirking. "What would you have done if I did not heed you, Eragon?"

Eragon did not smile as Murtagh had expected; his face, in fact, was as cool and placid as the surface of a lake. "I would have tested my theory that the only thing that kept me from losing our last battle was my weariness."

"Gentlemen," Nasuada interrupted, her calm acting as the voice of reason, "if you'd please… I have news for you." Without waiting for any acknowledgement, she launched into a speech that seemed pre-planned.

"The man whom attacked Arya offered us no verbal information. However, I asked some of the higher-ranking mages in our numbers to search his mind for me."

"Who was it?" Eragon asked, a hand going to Barzul's hilt. Arya saw the movement and placed a gentle hand over his, as if to calm him. The gesture was effective enough; Eragon's hand dropped away from the sword, his face composing again.

Nasuada took a deep breath before murmuring, "The moment had been erased. That memory was completely blank, except for a faint tingle of dark magic."

"What?" Eragon exclaimed, eyes widening. "Then how does that tell us anything? We are right back where we started!"

"Not true," Murtagh spoke up, a holier-than-thou smirk crossing his face. "It tells you quite a bit. Whoever gave him the money knows their magic. The person must be very powerful. It also lets you know that it must have been an inside job; someone from your ranks must have bewitched him. He was, after all, a loyal member of the Varden. He would never speak openly with a traitor."

"Trianna."

Eragon turned, eyes wide, and met Arya's suddenly anxious expression. "What?"

"It was Trianna. It had to be," Arya murmured, glancing down at her, feet, as if collecting her thoughts. "Murtagh told me that there were spies… and the most powerful was a woman who was jealous of Eragon and me."

Murtagh nodded, still grinning. "Yes, I did say that… But I wasn't talking about Trianna." He glanced behind them; his eyes were alight with a malicious laughter. "Well, hello, Abbila! I didn't see you lurking back there in the shadows. Why don't you come out and say hello to your fine _friends_."

* * *

Author's Note:

So… how many of you got it?

Love love,

E.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Doppelganger**

Eragon narrowed his eyes at the girl child who stepped into the room, her blonde hair falling in faint waves to her shoulders. Her pale eyes glanced his way, her bottom lip trembling a bit.

"Oh, save the innocent child façade for someone who actually believes it," Murtagh called coolly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Honestly. Do you really think you are fooling anyone anymore?"

Arya's eyebrows furrowed, her expression becoming troubled. "Abbila…?"

"My name isss not Abbila, you witch," she hissed, her voice sounding much too reptilian.

"Show yourself as your true form, then," Murtagh laughed, sounding harsh and not at all pleased. "Show them exactly what has been plotting against them."

The form before them shifted, the face flickering from Abbila's to Elva's, then to Murtagh's and finally resting back to her own. "You know I cannot do that," she simpered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What madness is this?" Nasuada demanded, her eyes wide.

"She is a doppelganger," Murtagh jeered, circling the girl. "What you see before you is a shapeshifter that can take the form of any living being… including the waif of a child that still serves under Galbatorix." He saw understanding flash through Eragon's eyes and grinned. "Yes, now you see. Now you see. This thing has been posing as one of you; and doing quite well. I think it actually fell in love with you, Eragon; which is shocking, because I thought these roughish things were incapable of feeling."

"Jussssst sssomething I would expect one of you to sssay," it growled, eyes glowing eerily green.

"How?" Arya asked, her voice the only calm one in the room. "How did a dragon hatch for a doppelganger?"

"Now that would be the question, wouldn't it?" Murtagh murmured, seeming to become surer of himself as every moment went on. "After all, doppelgangers have been kept as simple slaves since Galbatorix took over."

Abbila smirked, glancing up at Murtagh. "By the ssstate of your face, it lookssss as if you have been the one enssslaved."

Murtagh raised his hand, as if to slap her, but Eragon interrupted. "Murtagh, please. Let her speak."

Murtagh, grudgingly, lowered his hand. Abbila, or the thing that had taken her place, smirked. "It is quite ssssimple, really. We doppelgangersss have immenssse power with the magic of Alagaesssia, _gramarye_, much as the Elves do. Before Galbatorix wasss put into power, we roamed freely, practically sssurpassing the Elves due to our abilitiess in magic and added talent of ssshapeshifting. We can take on the form of any person we have laid a sssingle finger on." She smirked softly before adding, "All I have to sssay is that Lady Arya is lucky ssshe evaded me so well... or I might be wearing her skinssss now."

Arya's eyebrows dipped lower and she murmured, "Why can you not show us your true form?"

"Because not even I know it," she answered simply. "When we are born, we take on our mother's appearance. In essence, we are nothing without the vissssage of another person upon uss."

"Stop that," Eragon said suddenly, finally irritated. "Talk like Abbila used to. The hissing is grating on my nerves."

She made a faint bow, her smile obscene. "Anything for you, Argetlam." Her voice was, once again, the cheerful child's optimism that he remembered.

Eragon glared at the child, his expression darkening. "You paid that man to notch the arrow just right, in order to kill Arya? You used dark magic on another human's _mind_ in order to erase all evidence? You nearly sent an innocent man to his _death_, just so you could get back at _us_?" He shook his head, eyes blazing. "You are disgusting."

"Eragon," Arya whispered warningly, "an angry doppelganger is the last thing we need right now."

"Arya is right," Nasuada chimed from where she stood, looking hesitantly at the thing that was once the second Rider of the Varden.

The girl giggled, putting a hand to her face. "Oh, Arya Drottningu… I am far beyond angry. In fact, it's a wonder that you cannot see the rage you cause me simply by being in the same room!"

A ripple of hot power surged through the room, throwing Arya back against the wall. Her head slammed into the stone, a startled cry emitting from her throat. Abbila, or whatever the thing was, was suddenly standing above Arya, as if she had moved while none were looking. A blade, glowing emerald and pulsing angrily, had seemed to erupt from her very palm and fuse with skin and tissue. The blade's tip rested on Arya's neck, a fine pinpoint of blood welling from a minute cut.

Eragon had Barzul out in an instant, shoving it to the doppelganger's throat, growling, "Step away from her and put your sword down… else you die."

_Eragon! _Saphira cried out through their mental link. _Eragon, I am coming! Be careful; the doppelgangers move much too quickly for the human eye –even for the elven one, at times! _

Eragon pushed her voice out of his head, focusing only on the figure before him, only on the blade held to Arya's throat. "Step away from her and put the sword down," Eragon repeated calmly.

The doppelganger turned large, bulbous green eyes onto him, smiling with jagged teeth. Any semblance to Abbila was gone. "_It would have been so easssy, Eragon,"_ it hissed, _"to have me by your ssside and at the Varden'sss whim… if only you had chosen me."_

"Never," Eragon whispered.

"_Then you will not have your elf, either!"_

Everything seemed to become agonizingly slow. Eragon watched as the blade was shoved toward Arya. The elf's lovely green eyes widened, her head twisted to the side painfully in attempt to avoid it, and a splash of crimson welled from her neck. Eragon let out a cry, swinging his blade out toward the doppelganger. She ducked, but in doing so had to disengage from Arya.

_"Knifr Lam!" _

The words made everything still immediately. Murtagh's voice echoed through the room, the words whispering with hidden power. His voice rose again, murmuring quickly and fluently in the Ancient Language. Finally, he looked up at Eragon.

"The doppelganger's true name is this: _Knifr_ _Lam_. If you use this name, the doppelganger will have no choice but to obey you. Be wary, however, for Galbatorix knows its name, as well. Keep the doppelganger away from Galbatorix if you plan on surviving the battle."

Eragon, however, was too preoccupied with Arya. The elf was rising weakly to her feet, holding her neck. Eragon heard her whisper "_Waise_ _heill_," the skin of her neck quickly knitting together. The blood was hardly as plentiful as Eragon had first thought. It proved to be nothing more worrying than a slight wooziness on his companion's part. Eragon went to her, a hand touching her blood-splattered cheek conscientiously. "Arya?"

She smiled softly at him, a twinge of pain still lingering in her eyes. "It is nothing," she whispered in the Ancient Language. "Worry not. Listen to your brother's advice and send him on his way. If all he says is true, we have much to prepare for."

Murtagh, finally given the attention he seemed to have expected in the first place, continued. "As I said, her true name is _Knifr_ _Lam_. I have ordered her to follow your orders completely and fully. She is now under your control; but do remember, if anyone else was to order her to do something, and they knew her true name, she would then answer to them."

Eragon sighed, looking over to the silent, unmoving doppelganger. Her features had been quieted once again, resembling the delicate face of Abbila. "Tell no one of your secret. You are still to pretend to be Abbila. You will not speak with any other spy within these walls. Do you understand, _Knifr__Lam_?"

She turned pale blue eyes to him, murmuring sagely, "Yes, Argetlam." She turned, then, humming gently to herself in a way Abbila always had, before flouncing out of the room.

Nasuada, who had remained in a shocked stupor for most of the incident, shook her head, dark hair flying with the violent motion. "How can this be…?"

Murtagh paused, glancing upward, before making a pained face. "It is time for me to go now. The Empire only knows what pain is in store for me when Galbatorix gets his hands on me." He began to stride toward the door but paused beside Nasuada. He turned, eyes meeting hers, and sighed. He turned his course, instead making his way over to her, pulling her into his arms.

Eragon and Arya watched, slightly shocked, as Nasuada melted into the embrace, tears welling in her eyes. Her lips moved silently – _thank_ _you_. Murtagh's strong, grousing voice whispered something so only she could hear before he pulled back. Their lips met, briefly, and Murtagh turned in a flurry of black cloak. He strode out of the door and away from the Varden ruler who held his child in her womb.

Saphira's head, large and nearly taking up the entire doorway, followed not soon after. _What has happened? _She demanded.

Eragon shook his head demurely, murmuring back, _I must go pack. If what all has transpired here be true, we must make many journeys –and quickly. The final battle approaches. Talk with me while I walk. _

Arya placed a hand on Eragon's arm, whispering, "I will attend to Nasuada, clean up and change. Wait for me in your room. We must discuss this course of action you plan on further."

"I have not even planned a course of action," Eragon admitted.

"Exactly," Arya smiled faintly. "And that is why I insist you wait until a sound mind, such as myself, can help you with such a harrowing task."

…

Eragon sat on his newly made bed, the scent of baked bread still wafting through the room. A saddlebag had been packed with a few days' worth of rations and clothing, along with his change pouch. Saphira had allowed him a moment's time to think on all that had happened, bracing himself for the deep, terribly serious talk that he and Arya were bound to have.

Ten more minutes passed before his door opened slowly. Arya stepped inside, her skin clean and washed, her new tunic made of fresh white linen. She came to sit beside him, her hand covering his. "Eragon… are you all right?"

Eragon snorted, the sound somewhere between amused and annoyed. "I should be asking you that. After all, you nearly had your throat torn out while I stood aside, not even realizing what was happening."

"Eragon, there is no need to blame yourself," she murmured, the pad of her thumb rubbing his knuckles. "Nor is it the time for self pity. We must make haste if we are to find the answers you seek."

Eragon nodded. He remembered Brom's word – to find the Vault of Souls. But how? And before he did that, he needed a true Rider's sword. No matter how magnificent, Barzul would never stand up to Zar'roc.

"I must go to Ellesmera," Eragon murmured finally. He glanced up, meeting Arya's confused eyes, and forced a smile. "There is a weapon awaiting me under the Menoa Tree. Solembum said that when I was in need of it, it would appear…" Eragon glanced down at his free hand, noticing the faint trembling in it.

"I would say now is as good of a time as ever," Arya murmured, squeezing his hand before standing. "Come along then, Argetlam. We have to leave now if you expect to reach the forest before tomorrow eve."

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "We?"

Arya smiled coyly. "Do not even imagine that I would let you go on your own. This is as much of my fight as it is yours, Argetlam. We are pair bonded, after all." And with that, the strongest woman Eragon had ever laid eyes on waltzed out, calling over her shoulder, "Saphira and I shall be awaiting you whenever you deem yourself ready."

…

Author's Note:

This is me… spoiling you.

Yeah, I know, I wasn't supposed to update until 670 reviews… But I decided I wanted to give you all a little treat – as an apology for giving you such an evil cliffhanger. That just means you'll have to get me to 700 reviews before I update again. No whining – that's only 41 reviews. Honestly, there are 300 of you reading…

So, here it is. They are on their way to Ellesmera (my favorite place EVER!) So, leave me A LOT of reviews!

Love love,

Megan 


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Yawe**

The trip had started off rather unsteadily. It had first started off with speaking with Nasuada about their journey. The woman seemed upset, murmuring, "What about Barzul, Eragon? It is a fine blade."

"Aye," Eragon had agreed, feeling unease prickling up his spine. "Yet it will stand no chance against Zar'roc. I need a sword made for the Dragon Rider of the sapphire dragon. I am sorry, my lady. I promise to return as swiftly as possible."

Nasuada nodded, concern tightening her brow. "And you will be taking Arya with you?"

Eragon felt a gentle heat rise to his face. "If it is pleasing to my Lady, yes."

Nasuada scoffed a bit. "Eragon, stop with the formality. There is no council here to see you groveling at your liege lord's feet. Yes, take Arya with you. I would suggest taking Orik along, as well, so that the dwarves do not think you are abandoning them." She caught the sudden look of impatience that flashed through Eragon's eyes and smiled sadly. "Go on, then. Make haste, before I change my mind."

The second occurrence was Saphira herself. She had blocked her mind off from Eragon, leaning him hard-pressed to find her. Arya looked impatient as they stood in the courtyard, waiting for their blue-scaled escort. She then perked up, whispering, "Eragon… reach out to Briam!"

Eragon did as he was told and found the emerald dragon shrieking for his master. His anxious cries were coming from the Dragon Keep at the top of Borromeo's highest spire. Among the garbled words from the male dragon were '_Saphira_… _knows_!'

"Damnit," Eragon cursed, throwing his saddlebag done. "Saphira's gone after Briam for betraying us!"

"But he hasn't!" Arya exclaimed, sprinting along side Eragon. "The dragon has no say over who their Rider is! _Fate_ proclaims that! Briam has nothing to do with the choices Abb… that _doppelganger_… makes!"

"I know," Eragon called back, eyes distressed. "But it seems as if Saphira has lost her ability to reason within the past few moments!" _Saphira! _Her cried out, knowing full well that it would do no good. _Stop! _

And idea struck him. _Briam! _He cried. _Briam, it's Eragon! Tell Saphira that I beg her to stop! _

There was a long silence and then a wheezed, _Doesn't… believe… it's you. _

Eragon was now running up the stairs of the spire, taking them two at a time, his feet barely touching stone. Arya was right beside him, their lithe forms side-by-side. _Tell her I am coming and that I beg her to do nothing until I get there! Tell her this in the ancient language – she will have no choice but to heed you! _

The Keep door loomed in front of him, all oaken wood and gold piping. He and Arya shoved it open effortlessly, coming into the large, cavernous space composed of hay, gnawed animal bones, and large pallets made for the dragons. In the middle of the clearing, Saphira pinned Briam to the ground, one massive foreleg on his throat. Her large claws poked into the delicate under flesh of his collar.

_Why do you ask me to spare this traitor? _Saphira growled, her mental link flooding the room, reaching all of their minds.

Abbila –or Knifr – was suddenly there, panting, running to their side. "Briam!"

_I am fine, for the moment, _Briam answered, his voice reaching all of them, as well. His jeweled eyes met Eragon and he continued, _Master Eragon saved my life, if only for the time. _

Knifr turned shocked eyes onto Eragon, who only glared. Looking back at his dragon, he murmured calmly, "Saphira, Arya said something rather wise on our way here. She said that Briam did not choose the doppelganger as his Rider; fate did - just as fate chose us to be bonded. Briam will follow his Rider into the depths of Afterlife if she orders it; and should we expect anything less from him? If I chose to side with Galbatorix right now, would you not follow me?"

There was a ringing silence before Saphira, slowly, picked herself off of the younger dragon. _I was close to ripping his throat out, _she hummed angrily.

_I know_, Eragon returned, reaching out and stroking a hand down the scales of her neck. _But I am glad you did not. Those two may still be of use to us. The doppelganger was a slave to Galbatorix; I would like to think that the only reason she still serves him is because he knows her true name. _

_Are you ready to leave, Saphira, or would you like a moment to calm yourself? _Arya asked gently, her voice even and warm. Arya ignored the glared Knifr gave her as she went to Briam, petting the dragon like one would a favored pet.

Saphira snorted, a tendril of flame escaping her nostrils. _Nothing calms me so much as flying. Let us go._ She then turned a large eye onto Briam, simpering, _If I so much as see a glimmer of your shadow following us, I will kill you. _

…

The wind wiped past Eragon's face, the moisture in the clouds making a soft mist on his cheeks. His arms tightened unknowingly around Arya, who sat in front of him in Saphira's saddle, as if reassuring himself she was still there. She gave his hand a small squeeze, a gentle pressure, and he could almost see her smiling.

_How long do you anticipate this trip will take? _Eragon asked Saphira, voice still soothingly attentively. Saphira still had the slight edge of anger that made him weary to ask anything too stressful.

_Arya would know better than I, _she answered, voice slightly stiff, _yet I suspect a week at the most. If I fly nonstop, we could possibly make it in three days. _

_No, that is out of the question, _Eragon answered promptly. _I trust the elves, but there is a reason that some did not join the migration to Surda. There will probably be troublemakers among those remaining in Ellesmera. I need you strong and able. _

_As you wish, Argetlam, _she sighed, voice fading out.

_Saphira,_ Eragon began, unsure what to say. He took a deep breath, stroking his hand over the smooth scales beneath him. _I love you, Saphira. I am sorry that Briam has not proven worthy to be your mate. _

There was a long stretch of silence before Saphira sighed. _Thank you, little one. I love you, too. _

Arya stirred a bit in his arms, making Eragon focus on the elf. Her hair had been pulled into a braid and tucked under her tunic so that it would not whip across Eragon's face. Her delicately pointed ears shone from the dew in the air, glimmering as if beset with small diamonds. _How is Saphira? _

_As well as can be expected, _Eragon sighed. _She is upset about Briam. _

_As can be imagined, _Arya murmured, sympathetically reaching out and rubbing a hand over Saphira's neck. The dragon thrummed beneath them, showing her appreciation. _And how fare you after your charge's betrayal? _

Eragon frowned, his thumb absently rubbing her side as he thought. _I try not to think about it. It is a good thing I was such a terrible tutor, though, _he added comically, _or else we might be in trouble. _

_Do not say such things about yourself, Eragon, _Arya murmured, leaning so that the back of her head rested against his shoulder. _Even if you were a terrible tutor, it would not have mattered. She is a doppelganger; they are as versed with the Ancient Language just as much as we elves are. Every problem she had with your tutoring was an imitation. _

Eragon snorted, his grip on her tightening to secure her new position. _Wonderful way to make me feel _better_, Arya. _

He could tell Arya was smiling by the slight lilt in her voice. _Stop worrying over it; all will be over soon. She is under your control, for the time. There is no use focusing on the 'what-ifs' right now. _

_She is right, _Saphira interrupted, having tapped into their conversation. _Relax, little one. If you should be worried about anything, it should be me dozing off up here! _

_Land if you need a rest, _Eragon told her kindly, concern in his voice. _I'd forgotten you had a difficult night last night. Feel free to rest whenever you need it. _

_Thank you, little one, _she hummed, _but I can go a bit further. _

…

Three days had passed with only hour-long breaks in the middle of five-hour flights. Most of the time, Saphira didn't want to land even then. She seemed anxious to have Eragon in possession of this mystical power Solembum had mentioned.Eragon had to verbally talk Saphira in to landing, normally with a well placed, "Saphira, what if we run into trouble? How will you be of any use to us if you are sleep walking?"

That, however, did not mean that Eragon himself wasn't anxious. Around the third day, he was in a vigilant look out for the green forest outcroppings of Du Weldenvarden. Arya found this quite amusing and spent her time teasing him with a well-placed, "Oh, what is that? Oh, just more sand… Pity."

The fourth day found them gazing over a small straggle of trees just outside of Du Weldenvarden. Saphira had willingly landed near them, weakly curling up under the shade of a large oak. _I should be rested in an hour, little one, _she murmured.

Eragon and Arya both noticed the toll all of this traveling was having on their companion. The fact that she was forced to carry so much baggage and two grown adults didn't help, either. After all, she was still relatively young. _Take a few hours, Saphira,_ Eragon murmured sympathetically. _You need your rest. Forgive me for riding you so hard the past few days. _

_It is of no consequence, little one, _she murmured, her scaly eyelids falling closed over jeweled eyes.

Eragon turned his attention to the east, his delicate ears picking up the faint sounds of running water. Arya seemed to notice it, as well, and stepped into the dense trees. She returned moments later, saying softly, "A small river; I never knew there was one this far out… We could bathe without disturbing Saphira."

Eragon glanced over at the exhausted dragon, weary about leaving her. Arya smiled, murmuring, "Eragon, we can still see her from the river. It is not far at all."

Eragon sent a small message into Saphira's dreams, getting a hazy reply that she would be fine. He followed Arya into the trees, the sound of water suddenly magnified. True to her word, the little stream was not far from where Saphira had laid down. Arya made a careful path to the bubbling water, removing a boot gracefully, before poking a toe into it.

"Well?" Eragon asked, leaning against one of the trees.

She turned, smiling. "Cold, but it is clean." She began to disrobe, first pulling off her tunic and then moving to the corded belt at her waist.

Eragon, even after their night of intimacy, couldn't help the heat that rose to his face. He looked away, murmuring, "I will go… downstream a bit…"

Arya turned, a look of disbelief on her face. Her pale skin seemed to glow under the dim canopy of leaves that shaded them. "Eragon…" She made a soft sound, something between a scoff and a chuckle, before strolling over to him. Her bare skin shimmered with the dappled light as she walked, the braid of her hair curling over her shoulder. She reached out, touching his arm. "What is it?"

Eragon turned, focusing very hard on meeting her eyes and looking no lower. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have a faint, raspy noise come out. Embarrassed, Eragon cleared his throat and tried again. "Arya, you know as well as I that my mind is not as… rational… as yours. Nor do I have the control you do."

Arya stepped closer, her skin pressed against him, her lips finding his. The kiss was delicate and eased Eragon's troubled mind, if only for a moment. As she pulled back, her emerald eyes met his. "I offered you to bathe with me, Eragon. Do not keep me waiting," she whispered softly, turning from him.

Eragon watched as she sauntered back toward the stream, her hips hypnotically swaying. He could not deny her anything; in that moment, Eragon realized that there was nothing he would not do for this woman. As he pulled off his tunic and then boots, he realized that this relationship could pose a barrier in saving Alagaesia. If Murtagh ever let it slip to Galbatorix that Eragon and Arya had this bond, Galbatorix could use it against him.

And if that happened, what would Eragon choose? Arya or Alagaesia?

He shook it from his mind, trying to focus on the task at hand. Allow Saphira to rest and then finish the trip to Ellesmera. Removing his breeches, Eragon slipped into the cold water. It was fresh and the chill instantly rejuvenated his weary mind.

Arya was nimbly untying her braid, wetting the strands and watching him with her dark eyes. Eragon leaned back in the water, washing out his own hair with the water, unsure as to what this interlude would ensure.

He didn't have to think on it for long; Arya soon made her way to join him near the bank, splashing his chest with a handful of water. She sat down on the bank, the water just barely lapping at her waist. Reaching out to him, Arya drew Eragon to her, cradling him against her body. She ran her hands absently through his hair, murmuring, "Are you worried?"

Eragon settled back against her, letting out a small sound of restlessness. "Of course I am, Arya… I fear for our lives more so now than I ever have. Yet I know that I will continue to fight, as will you, as will Saphira; this is our fate and we will rise to meet it."

Arya smiled faintly, her fingernails gently grazing across his scalp. "I half expected you to demand I not fight in the final battle. Most men would expect their lovers to protect themselves by running away in times such as these."

Eragon turned slightly, looking at her. "I am not most men, Arya, and you are certainly not a common lover."

Arya's smile was gorgeous as she leaned in, lips brushing his. They remained like that for a time, chastely exchanging kisses and allowing the river water to cool their weary bodies. After a time, however, Arya pulled back.

"I wish to give you something," she murmured, voice soft.

"What is it?" Eragon asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Arya touched the back of her shoulder where Eragon knew the tattoo of _yawe_ resided. Softly, she said, "It was custom for elves who thought themselves to be linked through destiny to have matching _yawe_. Faolin and I, young and naïve as we were, thought we were such a pair. I had mine placed upon my skin just before we were sent out to take the egg of Saphira. Faolin was to have his done upon our arrival back. That… never happened."

Eragon looked back to his front, his back still to her. "I see…"

She made a gentle sound, something like a chuckle, and touched his shoulder. "Yet you still do not possess a matching _yawe_…"

Eragon turned, eyes wide, and murmured, "Do you suggest I…?"

Her smile was faint, pained almost. "Only if you are willing to be bonded to me. It will be the last testament of our love."

Eragon smiled, murmuring, "Do you really have to ask?"

Author's Note:

Oh my god… You all actually did it. When I logged on this morning after a rough nate of work and no sleep, I saw 703 reviews… and my jaw dropped. And then I yelled, "Oh shit, that means I need to keep the promise I made in my review!"

But yes, if you all didn't see my review, go check it out. Then you'll understand the madness of the double chapters.

Your promised next chapter will be up soon – sorry it couldn't be done today, but I am about to go into work. I am also working tomorrow, 7am to 4pm, EST, so look for the next installment around seven tomorrow, okay?

I hate making promises I am hard-pressed to keep. :(

_Songs for these chapters_:

Chapter 26:

First section: "Before I'm Dead" – Kidney Thieves

Second section: "Not Meant For Me" – Wayne Static

Third section (river scene): "White Rabbit" – Jefferson Airplane

I love you all!

Megan


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**Revisiting the Ants  
**

Eragon's shoulder still tingled from the magic components Arya had used on it. She had masterfully copied the yawe from her shoulder onto his, as if the same artist had etched both designs. He and Arya dressed slowly before Saphira, who seemed to have just awoken, called out, _Are you two love bird ready yet?_

_We're coming, _Eragon called back with a small smile. _Feeling better?_ He asked as the pair made their way back into the clearing where Saphira was in the process of letting out a large yawn.

_Much better, _Saphira replied, voice cheery. _Let us go – I want to see what this mystical weapon is!_

Everything seemed brighter as the three flew over the forest. The sun was warmer and the birds chirped cheerfully – it was as if nature was completely oblivious to the bloodshed that would be occurring with the final battle.

Ellesmera came into view late in the evening. Saphira landed in the square near to the Menoa Tree, surprising the remaining elves that happened to be around them. They all called out their surprised greetings to Eragon and Arya. Both impatiently responded to them, placing their fingers to their lips.

"What brings you both back so soon?" one called out in the Ancient Language.

Arya quickly explained their course of action, which shocked everyone assembled. "You are digging under the Menoa?" Another elf called, her eyes wide. "But…"

"We must," Eragon exclaimed, turning to look at them all in turn. "Galbatorix is becoming stronger and our armies have weakened and lost heart. I have no power; I need this weapon."

Everyone was silent until one whispered, "If the Princess agrees to it, then we shall obey. Good luck, Argetlam."

Eragon made a small bow, touching his lips, before turning to the tree. He and Arya wasted little time magically pulling the dirt back from the roots of the tree. Saphira joined in, zealously tearing at the dirt with her massive claws.

After only five minutes, the square was a mess of dug dirt. Saphira wormed her head into the large, gaping hold to look for the weapon. She returned moments later, bemused. _Nothing is here, Eragon._

_What do you mean, nothing? _Eragon asked, eyes wide. He climbed into the hole, Arya calling for him to be careful. He trekked through the dirt on all fours, examining strange dirt formations and swatting at passing ants.

Saphira had been right. There was nothing.

Eragon came out, shaking his head. His heart swelled with frustration, his face no doubt mirroring the dejection on so many of the elves' visages. Arya gently reached out, brushing dirt from his hair. "We will find it, Eragon."

"I do not see how," Eragon muttered, upset evident in his tone. "I cannot understand it; how can the weapon not be under the tree's roots?"

_Eragon…_ Saphira began, her voice distracted. _What if the tree was not in possession of it… but the woman who inhabits the tree was?_

Eragon blinked, slowly turning his gaze onto Arya. "Arya… what was the story of Linnea?"

Arya seemed confused but answered promptly, "Linnea was an elven woman who was only interested in her plants. She never loved, not until a young elven man wooed her and, eventually, won her heart. He left her for a younger woman and Linnea was maddened with grief. She stabbed the woman and then sang herself into the Menoa Tree… why?"

Eragon's eyes widened. "That's it. The weapon she used to stab the elf's lover…" Eragon looked around frantically, before asking, "Where did the elf Linnea reside?"

There was quite a bit of murmuring before one elf spoke up. "The large sycamore just outside of the Drottningu home. There she resided… although the tree has begun to rot and become unstable over the years. Are you sure you should enter, Argetlam?"

"I have no choice," he murmured, glancing over at Arya. She nodded in his direction. "Go. I shall try to sate the elves' curiosity for the moment. Where would you like to meet?"

Eragon paused before answering quickly, "Oromis'. I wish to pay my respects." Arya nodded, her fingers covering his for a brief moment, lips meet his cheek. There was a shocked murmur through the crowd. Eragon suddenly remembered that these elves did not know of the joining between their Princess and a Rider.

Eragon offered her a faint smile before turning toward the Palace home of Arya and her mother. He passed it, calling out to Saphira, _Do you wish to come along?_

Saphira's sizable girth joined him, her quick gait causing the ground to shudder. _Of course. Though I hardly think it wise for me to set claw within the dwelling if it is truly unsteady._

_I agree, _Eragon laughed, feeling excitement bubbling within him again. The sycamore was coming closer; the large tree seemed to be big enough for five dragons to live comfortably. The door was ajar, though it looked as if none had been inside for years.

_Go on, little one, _Saphira urged, nosing him along with a gentle shove of her snout.

Eragon stumbled inside, instantly assaulted by the smell of rotting, wet wood. His nose wrinkled yet he bravely entered the creaking home.

The first thing he noticed were the pots and vases that no doubt once held an array of beautiful plant life. They were everywhere, covering every surface of the home. Eragon glanced around the dim room, stumbling over a large, stone bowl of water. He frowned, confused, and bent down. The stone was covered in something dark. Reaching out, he ran a finger along the rim. His finger came back with a dusty, copper-colored substance.

It then occurred to him what it was. Blood. Very, very old blood.

Almost on accident, he glanced to his left. There, right beside him and hidden under a decaying plant, was a glimmer of metal. He reached out, hand securing around a hilt. He pulled the blade from under random scraps of paper and dead foliage, eyes widening.

The blade was covered in the blood, as well, as if Linnea had come home and disposed of the blade, only caring to wash her hands of the blood. Eragon put the sword into the bowl of water, gabbing some discarded rags and scrubbing the red powder off. Once he was sure that it was completely cleaned, he got to his feet.

It was time to see the blade in full light.

Stepping outside, Eragon was temporarily blinded by the onslaught of brightness.

_Oh, little one, _Saphira breathed. _It is beautiful._

Eragon glanced down at the blade, shocked at how the full light of day had transformed it. The blade shone brilliantly white, the color shocking. A trace of blue skimmed down the center of the blade, branching off to form vein-like tracings all over the steel. The hilt seemed to be made of a light metal and white gold, small diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires circulating around the top. Two large sapphires, the size of chicken eggs, resided on both sides of the hilt.

_What does it say, little one?_

Eragon glanced down at the previously unnoticed word inscribed into the blade. _Moi._ Change.

Saphira chuckled. _And how fitting, for it is you who will cause much change in the world._

Eragon's hands took up a faint trembling. It was _beautiful_. How had such a blade come to exist in Linnea's hands in the first place? He removed Barzul from his sheath, reverently sliding Moi inside. He quickly took a bundle of cloths out of one of the saddlebags in Saphira's back, wrapping Barzul and storing it away. He would have to give the special blade back to Orik and thank the elves deeply for their kindness.

_Let us go to Oromis', little one, _Saphira murmured. _I would like to pay my respects, as well._

Eragon and Saphira made a ginger, almost careful path back to the square. The elves had replaced the dirt and all was as it had once been. Many of them noticed the new sword and drew in sharp breaths; whether because they knew that this sword would be the one destined to slay Galbatorix, or whether because they recognized it as Linnea's, Eragon knew not.

Oromis' small living hut lay just as it had during Eragon's time in training. _Strange, _Eragon murmured to Saphira mentally, _but it looks so much smaller to me now._

_It does, _Saphira agreed softly, her nose pits flaring and she sniffed the air. _I can still feel them in the air… I suppose it has only been a month since their passing._

Eragon made his way to the door of the hut, pushing it open. Arya stood inside, a lit lantern beside her. She glanced up, her face serious. "Eragon… I believe this is for you."

Eragon furrowed his brows, stepping toward his elven companion and glancing at what she held. There was a piece of folded parchment, closed at the back with a red wax seal, Eragon's name scrawled across the top in flowing script.

_From Oromis? _Saphira asked, seemingly surprised.

_Yes, _Eragon replied, breaking the seal and scanning over the letter. He then cleared his throat, voice a bit unsteady, and began.

"Eragon,

If you are reading this then it is certain that I have finally been allowed to rest. I have so much to say but not enough time, nor strength, to do so. I shall only give you the advice you need in order to fulfill your quest and, in essence, your destiny.

You and Saphira have given us all much hope here in Du Weldenvarden. We all hold such respect and admiration for the both of you; such young children taking up the tasks that grown men would shirk from. You are a Rider, Eragon, above all else. As a Rider, you deserve the best training you can have. I have not given you this, unfortunately. Time has not been on our side.

Instead, in order to compensate, I give you the following information: there is a scroll that is of the most importance to any developing Rider. This scroll, I regret to say, I had qualms about showing you so soon. Yet now, looking back on things, I wish I had.

I am fearful of disclosing this particular scroll's location, in case someone else sees this paper before you. Think of this as your final test, Eragon. Find the scroll; it is practically under your very nose. Take a rest on the old stump you used to train on; think long on my words. I promise that an answer will come to you.

I wish things could have been different. I wish you had not been born in such a time of peril. I wish someone else had to take up this awful burden that you must carry. But that is not the way things happen, is it?

Good luck, Eragon. May you live a long and flourish under a regime that rules fairly and equally.

Oromis'

"What does it mean?" Arya asked, eyes searching his.

Eragon shook his head. "I do not know… but I think there may be a clue near that stump."

Arya followed Eragon outside and to the small bump that used to be a tree. She stood with him for a moment, searching the ground, before whispering, "There is more to this than meets the naked eye. Sit, as Oromis told you to. Feel out for a scroll with your mind."

Eragon was, to say the least, skeptical. How could he feel out the presence of a _scroll_? He sat down, however, focusing all of his attention on the ground.

Eragon wasn't sure how much time had passed with no luck, but finally something began to nag at the back of his mind. He focused downward, feeling the familiar colony of ants milling about in their underground network, building tunnels and making new passages. Eragon followed them, noticing, after a time, that there was a large space that no tunnels mapped. As if something were in the way, blocking the ants' path.

"I found it," Eragon heard himself say distantly, still focusing on the ants. "Arya, I found it."

"Where?" her voice wavered, coming in and out of his mind like a passing memory. He vaguely pointed a meter or so in front of him. Arya's presence was there suddenly, just above the space, her cool aura of the forest calming his edgy nerves. He sensed her digging, destroying all of those carefully built tunnels and sending an entire colony of ants into a panicked frenzy.

"Eragon," her voice cooed from seemingly far away, "I have it. Come back."

Eragon blinked, everything swimming into focus all of a sudden. The frenzied ants faded into the background of his conscious and now only Arya, holding a dirt speckled scroll in hand.

Saphira practically pranced from one massive claw to the other impatiently_. What is it?_

Arya handed the scroll to Eragon, her eyes alight with anxious curiosity. "Go on, Eragon."

Eragon unrolled the scroll, squinting past dirst smudges at the small runes. He skimmed over in, uncomprehending, until he saw the signature. His eyes widened and he let out an inarticulate sound of surprise.

"What is it?" Arya asked, Saphira echoing the question in his mind.

Eragon turned the scroll for them to see. "It is written by the first Rider, Eragon."

…

**Author's Note:**

Awww, another cliff hanger. Damn me, I am so evil. ;)

Anyway, sorry that this chapter is coming to you an hour and a half late. I had to take a nap once I got home from work; I was exhausted. I'm starting college on Wednesday, so hopefully I can get a new chapter up Tuesday night or Wednesday morning… if, that is, I get some good reviews. ;)

Music for this chapter:

"19-2000" – Gorillaz

"Even Deeper" – Nine Inch Nails

"Bittersweet Symphony" – The Verve

"Chemicals Between Us" – Bush

"Sometimes It Be That Way" and "Love Me, Just Leave Me Alone" – Jewel (the two songs that basically sums up _me_, as a person and author… so poetically sarcastic ;) )

Love love,

Megan


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

**Small Tokens**

Eragon opened his mouth, about to read the letter aloud, when Arya held a hand up to cease him. "What this scroll contains has nothing to do with me. It would be wrong for ears or eyes such as mine to take in the ancient words of the first Shur'tugal."

Eragon nodded, slowly, realizing that his hands were trembling; whether out of excitement or fear he knew not. He glanced down at the parchment, Saphira's mind humming inside of his. The scroll began abruptly, the words crisp and sharp in tone.

_The most important thing a Rider must know is that evil is not born, it is created. I have been laid witness to bloodshed much through my long life, and I have caused my share of it. The only reason that I have not succumb to the darkness that surrounds these deeds is the love I share – with my pair bond, with my family, with my friends, and with my faithful companion, Bid'Daum. Never have I seen an evil or corrupt man that has loved deeply or laughed frequently. Laughter cures most ailments – it reaches deep down where words and customs cannot touch. _

_A Rider must also understand the purity and beauty in his or her relationship with his or her dragon. No one will ever come so close to your heart as your dragon will. Words are not necessary; pain is equally felt between the Rider and Dragon – whether emotionally, physically and mentally. More intimate than any bond you will ever feel is the connection with your dragon. More than a simple steed, a dragon is a life companion. When one dies, the other will surely perish. Dragon, protect your Rider; and Rider, keep your dragon safe._

_As a final note, a Rider must remember that perfection is as intangible as the moon. Everyone has their follies – I know mine, and I accept them. Do not hold others accountable for your own mistakes and do not dwell in past regrets. A heavy heart creates a troubled mind. Troubled minds lead to self-doubt. That, in turn, becomes self-loathing and hatred. _

_Love freely, Rider, and hold nothing back. Even in times of peril, one must find a small beacon of light, a source of joy. Good luck on your journeys and may all of your skies be bright. _

_-Eragon _

Saphira pulled back a bit, thrumming, _Good advice… and yet I was hardly expecting that. _

"I know," Eragon murmured, looking through the letter again. "I thought there might be some clue in where to go next, but…" His voice trailed off when he caught a glimmer of something within the hole Arya had dug. He blinked, eyes refocusing. Sure enough, there was something gleaming dully.

Eragon rolled the scroll up, fastening it inside if his belt, and then crawled over to the hole. Reaching inside, his fingers grasped a small, glittering stone of dark purple. Attached to it was another piece of paper. This one, however, was once again in the flowing script Eragon had seen so many times.

"Another note from Oromis…" Eragon unfurled the paper fro around the base of the rock, opening it. A clipped message met his eyes.

_Look where all once seemed lost. _

_The damsel in distress revisited. _

_The answer, and the secret name, _

_Lie within her mind. _

Eragon blinked once, and then twice, before handing the paper to Arya. She read over it carefully, lips pursed. "What does it mean?" Eragon asked, voice soft.

_Perhaps Helgrind? _Saphira murmured softly, head cocking to the side in a rather human show of confusion. _Katrina being the damsel in distress? _

"Maybe… yes, that must be it," Eragon said, nodding. It did make sense…

"No," Arya murmured softly. She was still looking at the paper, eyes shielded by the fall of her long torrent of dark hair. "No, that's not it."

"What else could it mean?" Eragon asked softly, trying to understand why Arya's fingers were shaking as they held the note. What was it that she knew?

"Think, Eragon. How could Katrina possibly know any secret names? She is a human; a girl who had no knowledge of anything outside of her home and Roran."

Eragon was forced to admit that she was right. But still… "What do you suggest, then?"

Slowly she looked up, dark green eyes meeting his. "Eragon… when you scryed me while I was being held captive in Gil'ead, what was it you thought of me? When you saw me later inside of Gil'ead, followed closely by the nightmare that was Durza, what did you think?"

Eragon felt a faint flush rise to his cheeks. He had been so silly then; thinking her to be an innocent young woman with no experiences in fighting. He had thought her to be some princess of a foreign land, some lovely being who had been stolen from her castle and forced into prison for no reason. He had thought of her as…

Eragon's eyes widened. "A damsel in distress." Understanding clicked within him and he took Arya's small hands in his, anxious. "Arya, what do you know? Is the Rock of Kuthian within Gil'ead?"

Arya shook her head, brow knitted in concentration. "No… Gil'ead is a fortress; there is now way that the Vault's entrance is there."

_Arya, _Saphira began gently, _there is something you are not telling us. _

"There was a rock formation outside if my window," Arya murmured, her voice halting. "I do not remember much about it, seeing as I was drugged and poisoned… but I remember one night, when I actually left my dream state, it glowed… outside of my window, I could see it in the distance. It was a dark purple, almost black, and seemed to pulse its radiance through the night." She fingered the rock that had been tied to the paper, holding it up. "It was this color."

_Are you sure? _Saphira asked, nudging Arya's hair gently as a sort of comforting gesture. _You were severely unsteady at that time… _

Arya shuddered. "I could never forget how eerily that rock glowed… how it beckoned…"

Eragon stood, pulling Arya up with him. He pulled her up to stand along side him, taking her into his arms. He hugged her fiercely, whispering, "It's all right now, Arya… you're not there any more. You will never have to be subjected to those things again."

He knew that it wasn't really the rock that frightened her; it was what it signified. It was the thought of Gil'ead that made her nervous, the thought of so many nights tortured by other peoples' screams. And then there was, of course, the things those men tried to do to her. Eragon was glad that she had been strong enough to fend them off, to keep her remaining dignity intact.

Arya rested her head on his shoulder, her voice soft as she spoke. "I know, Eragon. And even if I were, you would not have to protect me. Do not think any less of me because I have admitted that I, too, fear things."

Eragon chuckled softly, pulling away and placing a soft kiss on her lips. "I would never think any less of you. How could I when I know any offense could have you pulling a blade on me?"

Arya smiled, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "Let us go, then, Rider," she sighed, turning away from Oromis' home. "I will wait for you to pay your respects. Then we shall leave."

Eragon nodded, turning back to the small home. There were two stone markers by the door, a sign of the deceased, and a small message inscribed on each one.

_Oromis _

_A Rider Who Sought Peace _

_Even When He, Himself, _

_Could Do Nothing To _

_Attain it._

The other was shorter but no less affective.

_Glaedr _

_Dragon, _

_Companion, _

_Loyal Friend. _

Eragon closed his eyes, whispering more to himself than the markers, "I will miss you both. You taught me well; because of your guidance and thoughtful ness, I will forever be in your debt. If I do happen to destroy Galbatorix's regime, it will be as much your doing as mine."

_That it will, _Saphira added fiercely before leaning her head back and letting out a piercing, saddened cry.

…

Author's Note:

So yeah… today was my first day on the college campus. Woot. I got there two hours early – a good thing, too, because parking was horrendous. So, I scoped out the campus (my legs hurt soooo bad from all of the walking!) and found all of my classes before I had to go to them. So, it seems as though I am in pretty good shapes as far as classes go. Everything went swimmingly. I know I will love my debate class and my Political Science class (even though the teacher's kinda creepy and touches his face a lot… I think it's a nervous habit. ;) )

Moving on… this entire chapter was written while listening to the album Poems, by Delerium. The most noteworthy, however, is the song "Innocente" used for Arya's recollection of Gil'ead scene. ("_It's the quiet of the storm approaching/ That I fear the most./ It's the pain that I hear coming-/ The slightest crystal tear/ Drops to the ground in silence…_")

Forgive me, it was quite a short chapter… but I have a life, too, guys! I need my breaks!

I love you guys!

Megan 


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

**Beneath the Rock**

The flight took a longer period of time than Saphira has first estimated. With their frequent stops in order to get water and let Saphira rest her wings, it took them nearly a week to reach the outskirts of Gil'ead. Eragon asked Saphira to stay close to the forests and out of sight from the major city of Gil'ead. The last thing they needed was to be spotted in such tremulous times.

_Besides, _Eragon thought quietly to himself, _I never want Arya to have to lay eyes on that city again._ He glanced down at the elf whose head rested comfortably on his chest, eyes half-closed. Even elves got weary of mind and body…

_I think I see it, Eragon, _Saphira hummed, snorting as a bird flew too close by. The animal let out a frightened twitter before plummeting into the dense foliage of the forest to find shelter.

The bird caught Arya's attention as it nose-dived into the greenery. Her voice was fatigued as she spoke. "For some reason, the birds never came into Gil'ead. Perhaps they sensed the evil there. I remember, in my more lucid moments, wishing I could see at least one free creature flying past the window…"

Eragon's grip on Arya tightened, reassuring. She glanced back at him, smiling, and continued, "You do not need to act as if I am some desperate, depression-ridden woman who can no longer hold her own because of her time in Gil'ead. I won't have it, Eragon."

Her smile made him grin, kissing her forehead gently. "I would not dream of it, my Lady," he joked, resting his head on her shoulder. He glanced ahead, noting a rather large cluster of rocks piled together, about one hundred and fifteen miles northeast of the Gil'ead gates.

"Marna?" he asked, suddenly remembering the time Oromis had made him memorize all of Alagaesia. He glanced at Arya, seeing her nod her agreement. Saphira was humming with excitement, her wings pumping furiously and quickening their descent through the biting air. The rock came closer and Eragon noticed the faint purple glow, even in broad daylight.

Saphira landed just outside of the rocky outcropping, Arya and Eragon wasting no time to hop off of her back and practically scramble to the rocks.

"Eragon Shadeslayer!" he proclaimed enthusiastically, voice rising to announce himself the entire rock.

Nothing happened; the rock remained still. Arya stirred beside him, offering softly, "Perhaps there is a certain place you must stand?"

Eragon and Arya took to circling the rock slowly, trying to find some defining feature. There were none; nothing made one rocky outcropping different from any other. Eragon sighed, sitting down on the grass cross-legged and looked up at Arya. "What now?"

Arya unfolded the small note from Oromis, which she had tucked inside her tunic for safekeeping, and frowned. "_The answer, and the secret name, lie within her mind._" She read aloud. She looked down at Eragon, eyes suddenly shimmering with understanding.

"It needs your true name… and only an elf can help you to know it." Arya slowly lowered herself into the grass in front of him, crossing her legs to mirror his. Their knees touched and Arya reached out, fingers feather-light on his temples. "This will feel strange," she murmured, licking her lips as if nervous. "I have not entered anyone's mind for a while, so please try not to resist me. I'm wary enough about my skills as it is; you trying to block things from me might make me irritable."

"My mind is as open to you as my heart is," he returned easily, eyes meeting hers. "I am ready when you are."

Arya nodded, seeming to take heart from his words. Closing her eyes, she reached into his mind with hers. Her mental presence was much gentler that her foreboding physical one. Her hardened warrior exterior was replaced with that of a princess, a kind-hearted lover. It made Eragon wonder, and not for the first time, how Arya had been as a child growing up in the Drottningu home.

There was a slight twinge of pain as Arya pulled through the old thoughts of Eragon's life. It was not, however, the excruciating torment that the Twins had inflicted upon him as they searched his mind.

The image of Eragon's first crush, Nissa, flashed over his eyes. A pretty girl from Carvahall, yes, but nothing compared to Arya. The elf dug further back into his memories, allowing Eragon to slowly relive moments of his childhood he had forgotten. He did blush, on more than one occasion, due to certain memories she happened to stumble upon. Yet even then, he was not as upset as when the Twins had forced themselves into his thoughts.

_I think… _Arya's voice wavered through his mind, something questioning in her words. _I think I may have found it._

Rapid images of pure darkness covered his vision. There were flashes of light, of eyes unsurely opening and closing. A woman's face swum forward, concerned and scared, and then there was more darkness. A voice, feminine yet not Arya's, echoed through his mind.

_Sundavar_ _Domia_… _awaken_.

Eragon's eyes flew open and he was once again sitting before the Marna rocks. Arya was still in front of him, although her emerald eyes seemed to be struggling to focus. Eragon realized that it was do to the massive amount of energy it took for her to enter his mind and remain within for so long.

"Arya, are you well?" he asked, pulling her closer to him. She allowed him to support her weight, head practically lolling on his chest. _Saphira, how long was she in my mind?_ He asked, eyes going to the sapphire dragon that rested near them.

Saphira's keen eyes seemed to have been watching them for quite a while. _At least half of an hour, little one. Perhaps a full hour. She must have taxed herself immensely._

_Aye, _he agreed, running a hand over her shimmering black hair.

Arya made a soft noise in the back of her throat before grumbling, _You should go now, Eragon. You have your true name; let no one else know of it. I shall stay here with Saphira._

Eragon forced a smile although he couldn't help feeling uneasy about entering an unknown area without her at his side. She had been there to protect and cover him for so long; it would be strange without her. _Of course, _he answered, kissing her forehead. He picked her up in his arms before standing, taking her over to Saphira.

_I know you shall take care of her, but call me in case anything happens,_ Eragon solicited Saphira, who nodded sagely.

_Of course, Eragon. I would never let any harm befall her or you._ Saphira lifted her wing and Eragon rested Arya against her massive flank. Saphira lowered her wing around the elf, enveloping her in a cool, dark bubble.

_Go now, _Saphira chided him gently. _There is no reason to lollygag while your lady suffers exhaustion and doom is looming ever nearer._

Eragon took her words to heart and turned once again to the rocks. He stood very still and, with a slight shudder in his voice, announced: "_Sundavar_ _Domia_."

There was a soft rumble underfoot before Eragon heard the sound of something massive trying to heave itself across the ground. Running around the circular projection, he found exactly what he had hoped to see; a large boulder had been moved aside to show an uneven stairwell carved into the ground. Eragon attentively took the steps downward, hearing something vaguely familiar murmuring in the back of him mind. It was like the hum of bumblebees in a hive, only more complex.

The walls of the cavernous hole he walked through were lined with what he guessed was phosphoric rock, gleaming a pale white and faint green. As he descended, he was able to pick out what the humming was – voices. There were millions of voices, seeming to come from everywhere all at once.

The ground finally leveled and Eragon was able to step along the corridor. He saw a faint gleam of white light from the other side, unable to keep the unease from his insides. He reached for the hilt of Moi, knowing he was probably being silly. No doubt it was simply a chamber of more phosphoric rock.

Yet, when he came closer, he realized it wasn't. There was a large pool of water, shallow by the looks of it, which took up the entire cavern. The water gleamed like pale white light; pure and clean in every aspect. Eragon stepped closer to the edge of the water, feeling restlessness creep into the pit of his stomach. The truth of his destiny lied in this room, probably within this very water.

But how was he to call on it?

"Vault of Souls," he proclaimed, voice echoing eerily around the room, "I am Eragon Shadeslayer, _Sundavar_ _Domia_, and I wish to be greeted."

There was an eruption of sound – hundreds of soft whispers from every direction, swirling around his mind. The shallow pool of water shimmered, a dark shadow circling along the inside depths. It paused in the center of the spring, slowly rising. The water rose with it; a large, black mass of water seemed to take the shape of a face. It was a woman, her features strangely elven in a human face. The lips moved and, seconds later, a soft voice echoed above the din of whispers.

"Whose soul do you call upon, _Sundavar Domia_?"

Eragon paused, surprised. He mustered up his strength, looking deep into the swirling mass of darkness. A name sprang from his lips; one he had not even thought of before. "The Rider Brom… I wish to call upon him."

There was more murmuring before the darkened shape changed, shifting features to one that Eragon knew very well. "Brom!"

The old, wizened face smiled, the water rippling around small wrinkle lines and accenting the folds under his eyes. "Eragon… how I hoped you would arrive here safe and sound. How is Saphira?"

"She is fine –wonderful," Eragon added, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. Here was Brom, right before his eyes – not in the flesh, of course, but still there. There was so much that Eragon wanted to ask, so much that he needed to know. Where could he even start?

Brom saved him the trouble. "Eragon, if you have found your way here then it must be close to the end of this war," Brom murmured sagely, his smile fading. "Eragon, do you remember the stories you have heard about the Grey Folk?"

Eragon nodded slowly, pulling the small bits of information from his memories. "Yes… the ones who bound the Ancient Language to words and died off due to the power of the spell. What about them?"

Brom's creased brow seemed to become more troubled. "One still survives; she is close to you, as well, Eragon. You must seek out her help in order to gain the true name of the Ancient Language. Only then will you be able to defeat Galbatorix."

"She?" Eragon repeated, looking confused. His eyes then widened. "Arya!"

"No, Eragon," Brom chuckled. "Not close to your heart, as Arya is. Not close to your mind, as Saphira is. Close to your loyalties; someone you would protect without loving past deep friendship."

There was a long silence in which Eragon tried to puzzle out Brom's meaning. Brom's wizened face regarded him for a moment before murmuring, "My time grows short. I am sorry many things were kept from you… I wish we had more time together. And Eragon…"

"Yes?" Eragon asked, anxiously looking up at the watery visage.

"Remember my final words."

…

_Author's Long, Rambling Note of Nonsense:_

Once again, we are moving steadily along toward the end of this story! I have had questions as to how long I expect the story to be… I would say another ten chapters, give or take a few. It really depends on how long I decide to make the next chapters, as well as how much detail I put into it. I promise, promise, **_promise_ **that I will not rush through the chapters to reach the end – you all deserve much more than that for putting up with me and all of my quirks. ;)

You know, as I was writing this chapter, I was thinking of a **blooper**-**reel**… you know, a gag chapter of this one? Because really, when you think about it, there are so many ways you could make fun of this story.

**By the way… **I have a person doing fanart for me, but I have yet to have an **MST **of my story. I would appreciate that a _lot_. For those of you unfamiliar with MST's, they are based off of Mystery Science Theatre 3000, an old show that would take movies and spoof them. MST's are basically the same, only taking a fanfiction and spoofing those. I did have one of my Harry Potter stories MST'ed, but the author did not finish it (this was some years ago). And I cannot, for the life of me, find it. Urg. That makes me angry.

**ALSO**: No, I am not Christopher Paolini. You would be amazed how many emails and reviews I receive from people convinced I am Paolini. If I were Paolini, a lot of things would have happened differently in the second book – I'll end it there.

To answer another commonly asked question: **this story is updated here and revised on Shur'tugal.** What does that mean? It means that this version you are reading is a sort of 'rough draft.' I have a beta that does the stuff for Shur'tugal. Not to mention, I have changed quite a few things around in the Shurty version; like, making it a bit more evident that it's not Trianna who betrayed everyone. I am only up to chapter 12 on Shurty, I believe. Keep checking in to see how it progresses.

This chapter was written to the songs:

"The Diary of Jane," Breaking Benjamin

"Extreme Ways," Moby (I really, really dislike Moby, but I love this song – it's on the ending credits of "The Bourne Identity" movie.)

"Both Sides Now," Joni Mitchell (My mom used to sing this song to me as a baby)

Love you all!

-Megan, currently being called "Helen of Troy" in my Theatre Class


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

**Aquarius**

**NOTE: The song used in the last section is NOT MINE. Credit is given at the end. **

The castle was always so cold. If there was one thing that Murtagh had grown to hate above all else, it was the cold. It seemed to seep into his bones without warning, creeping between flesh and bone and settling there – nesting there. He shivered at the thought, rubbing a hand over his arm as if to stir up warmth from his blood.

_What troubles you so?_ A deep voice resonated through his mind.

Murtagh started at first before relaxing back into his bed, wincing a bit. There were still tender spots on his back from last night's punishment. He had only received ten lashings before being sent to his quarters. Compared to the usual forms of torture, the whippings were nothing to bat an eye at.

_Everything troubles me, Thorn, _Murtagh replied at length, allowing his voice to carry the anxiety he felt within his breast. _Yet, currently, the chill of my room is bothering me the most._

Thorn chuckled humorlessly before thrumming, _Come visit with me for a time, then. I get rather lonely in the nest with only Shruikan to keep me company._

Murtagh snorted, _I can imagine. _He rolled off of the side of the bed, moaning a bit as the motion brought a sudden wave of dizziness. He put a hand to his forehead, muttering, _I'll be done momentarily._

_Are you sure you feel all right? _Thorn asked concernedly.

_Fine, just fine, _Murtagh replied hazily, stumbling to the door. He found it vaguely ironic that Galbatorix did not keep him confined to his room by guarded force, and then griped when he flew to go elsewhere. _If he really wanted to keep me locked away, he would… so why doesn't he?_

_Perhaps he is hoping that you go to the Varden, _Thorn supplied, voicing Murtagh's fears. _Perhaps we are playing into his trap step by step each time we seek out Nasuada._

_Perhaps, _Murtagh repeated, feeling queasy. He quickened his pace, only slowing when he was outside in the fresh air and blazing sun. He hurried toward the Spire, a separate tower on the Northern grounds with a large nesting roost at the top. He went up the two hundred steps, not even the least bit out of breath when he reached the top.

Shruikan was lounging regally on his back, broad neck blocking Murtagh's entrance. Murtagh sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Shruikan, really. Couldn't you choose a better place to take a nap than in the middle of the roost?"

Shruikan opened one eye, the black orb swiveling to look up at him. The dragon snorted, a thick haze of smoke curling out one of the many large windowless holes. _Thorn did not mention you would be coming._

_Yes I did, _Thorn muttered darkly. _You simply chose to snore louder and ignore me._

_Perhaps I was sleeping, _Shruikan groused as he rose up to his full height, stretching out his neck and flexing his wings.

_No, _Thorn continued bluntly, _you were ignoring me._

Shruikan gave a feral grin. _Same thing. _He shuffled over to a large bed of hay and plopped down, making the tower heave a bit. Yawning, Shruikan turned his attention to Murtagh again. _Galbatorix wishes for me to tell you that it would be in your best interest not to go gallivanting to the Varden this night. _

Murtagh rolled his eyes, unable to help it. The man knew very well that Murtagh was going to leave, with or without his permission. "You can tell him that if he wished to chain me down, he has the means to do so."

Shruikan let out a raspy chuckle, the sound resonating. _Oh, my boy, do not tempt him. He enjoys chaining the young, strapping and unwilling down. _

Murtagh shuddered out of pure revulsion, turning to Thorn. The smaller dragon looked equally disgusted. "I simply came here to spend time with Thorn."

_I was planning on going out for a while, though; _Thorn murmured auspiciously, tone cheery. Murtagh smirked, knowing what that meant. Thorn was planning on taking his Rider on another trip to the Varden. _Will you join me? _

Murtagh sighed, allowing a small smirk to grace his features. "Well, why not?"

…

Nasuada felt her insides squirming uncomfortably, as if a particularly wriggly worm had slithered into her stomach. She tried to block the feeling from her mind; as if not concentrating on it would make it go away. Slowly and melodically, she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled over to the teacart her maid had brought in.

_Why was I so stubborn as to send her away without bringing me the tea in bed? _Nasuada mused, having to lean heavily on the wall to stay upright. She smiled humorlessly while thinking, _If I can hardly stand to pour myself the tea, how will I be able to walk back to the bed carrying a scalding cup?_

Nasuada found this immensely funny in one of the ironic ways of a woman stuck between two extremes. She was going to have a baby! …She was going to bring a child into a world of bloodshed and hatred.

With trembling hands, Nasuada reached out, her hand curling around the handle of the teapot. She carefully poured the sweet-smelling liquid into a small cup, watching as plumes of steam rose from the tea. She unhurriedly sat the pot down before gingerly picking up the small cup.

Turning to make her way back to the bed, Nasuada came face-to-face with the broad shoulders and messy fall of dark hair that belonged to Murtagh. The cup of tea fell to the floor, shattering.

Murtagh's lips twitched into a small half-smile, confusion shining in his eyes. "Is it really so surprising that I would come back to see you and…" his voice faded off but he looked pointedly at her stomach.

Nasuada suddenly felt naked against his gaze, wrapping her thin arms around the clouds of white lace and satin that made her dressing gown. "What are you doing here, Murtagh?"

Murtagh stepped forward, palms out, showing her that he was not armed. He then took her arm, guiding her back to the bed. "Is it so wrong to want to see the mother of my child?"

Nasuada looked away, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Is that all I am to you? A vessel for your legacy?"

Murtagh tucked her back into the bed before going back to the teacart, pouring her a new cup. This he brought to her while murmuring, "You know that is not what I mean." He handed her the cup before sitting down beside her. "You also know that I am horrible with words. How can I tell you what I feel when I, myself, am not sure?"

Nasuada turned, watching irritation flow over his face. Not irritation toward her, but toward his inability to voice his emotions. "It's not as if…" he began, only to break off. Looking annoyed, he faced her, taking her free hand in his. "Nasuada, if I could, I would take you and the child away from here; far away from here. I would never look back. But, until Galbatorix is gone, I am tied to this land and to this fate separate of you."

Nasuada nodded, sipping her tea to buy time. How did one respond to something like that? This was no time for her to fall to pieces, but that was precisely what she wanted to do. The tea burned a course down her gullet, making her wince.

"Nasuada…"

"Yes?" She asked, voice coming out strangely.

Murtagh looked as if he was struggling with himself internally. Finally, he took the tea from her, placing it on an end table beside the bed, and helped her down into the large pile of pillows. He curled up next to her, arms wrapping around her slim body.

"We will be just fine," Murtagh murmured, seeming to need more reassurance than she did. His hands stroked gently over her stomach and Nasuada smiled slightly. Perhaps they would be just fine… the three of them.

…

"Eragon… my mother wishes for us to come sit with her and the other elves in the courtyard."

Eragon took a deep breath to steady himself; hr was already hating the fact that he was forced to deal with the in-laws. He loved Islanzadi's humor and honor-bound ways, yet they were certainly vexing sometimes. He and Arya had just returned from nearly a month-long excursion and Islanzadi wished for them to come sit and _talk_? Eragon was much more interested in bathing and getting clean clothing on.

"I must report to-"

"Nasuada's sleeping," Arya answered promptly as she fluttered about the Keep with what appeared to be restlessness. Saphira watched the elf pace while nibbling on the bones from a deer leg servant had brought up for her. "Were you not listening to the serving girl? Nasuada has already been informed of your arrival."

"The serving girl didn't say that," Eragon disagreed without much conviction, his voice much too tired to hold any sort of argument.

_Yes, _Saphira interrupted with a sly smile, _she did. You were just too caught up in thoughts of hot water and clean clothes to pay her any heed._

A small smile twitched the corners of Arya's lips before she continued, "Nasuada was informed of our arrival and sent her regards and best wishes. She is, however, most tired and wishes to postpone our chat with her until tomorrow."

"That isn't like Nasuada," Eragon murmured, more to himself than Arya, feeling uneasy. "Perhaps I should go check on her-"

Arya's arms twining around him from behind quickly quieted him. Her voice was laced with amusement as she whispered, "Eragon, what will the other male elves thing if I make my way down there unescorted?"

Eragon smiled, turning, taking her into his arms. This was a side of Arya that none but himself knew existed; playful, angelic, utterly gorgeous. He could never say no to this woman; could never deny her anything.

"Come, then," Eragon sighed. "The faster we do this, the sooner we can get cleaned up."

"Agreed," Arya murmured, taking his hand and leading him toward the Keep's door.

…

Although tired and a bit cranky, Eragon found himself relaxing in the presence of all of the elves. A wineskin circled the bonfire in a great, lazy circle, loosening everyone's mouth and voice. Islanzadi laughed with her men, speaking with everyone equally and eloquently.

One of the male elves, his silvery hair rippling, spoke out suddenly. "This bonfire is like all of us."

Arya chuckled, sipping from the communal wineskin. "What makes you say that, Fall'er?"

He smiled a bit before continuing, "We are all so small… tiny, insignificant by ourselves. Just like these logs. But when we are given the right motivation, the right spark, and then gathered together…" He smiled, eyes turning to Eragon as the human took the wineskin from Arya. "Then we become a sight to behold."

There was a collective murmuring of agreement before another elf, this one sporting odd, rippling tattoos across the face and a hawk-like nose, spoke up. "Lady Anasi… Perhaps you should sing for us. Your voice always did wonders to bring peoples' minds to ease."

Eragon cast a quick glance over at Arya, whose face had split into a lovely smile. Her eyes were focused on a young woman whom Eragon had somehow overlooked, sitting on Arya's other side.

"I really shouldn't…" Anasi whispered, her cheeks flushing a bit as she lowered her head. She took a quick gulp of the wine, grimacing, before passing it on. "I haven't sung in ages. Besides, I am sure the Argetlam would rather hear someone else's voice than mine-"

"You brought pride on Du Weldenvarden every time you sang," Fell'er interrupted with a laugh. "Come now. You were the best singer in the forest."

"That she was," Islanzadi agreed, nodding deeply. "She sang more beautifully than a lark… and she would always perform in the summer festivals as she was growing up."

"Mother, please," Arya interrupted, looking annoyed. "You are embarrassing her-"

Islanzadi, however, would not be quieted. "Go on, now dear. And if you would, sing the song of the Drottningu line."

Arya's eyes widened to the size of saucers as she looked between Eragon and her mother. "Mother, I do not think this is the proper time for-"

"Arya," Islanzadi repeated, her eyes saying words that her lips were not articulating. "Now is the perfect time." Turning her attentions on to Anasi, she urged, "sing for us, dear."

Anasi stood, her eyes sliding from Arya's face to Eragon's. She offered him a faint smile before sighing. "Alright… I am out of practice, so bear with me. Fall'er, do you have your drums with you?"

"Of course. Do I go anywhere without them?"

Anasi took a breath and everything went silent. Her lips parted and her voice spilled forth, blending with the night and making everything stop and stand to attention. The drums came in, accenting her high, gorgeous voice expertly. A flute seemed to accompany her, as well, and suddenly the very night air was singing along with her.

Her body was like a snake, slithering its way between the elves and toward the fire. Her nimble form twisted and turned around the flames, voice rising.

Eragon found himself standing, his legs moving on their own accord. Arya stood with him, still seeming upset about the song choice. Eragon couldn't see why – it was amazing; the way the words forced him to stand, forced him to move. It seemed the same was happening to Arya, for her own body was moving to the beat. He was suddenly pressed flush against her, their bodies mirroring one another, hands finding each other.

"I relinquish to your powers/ From your grasp, I just can't hide…/ I missed the danger I had to conquer/ You made me feel alive…"

Anasi's voice faded off, and finally the music did, as well. Eragon's hazy mind was suddenly quite aware of the dozens of eyes upon them. His face burned as he began to pull away from Arya. "Forgiven me," he whispered. "I am not sure what came over me…"

Applause broke out among the elves, along with pleasured murmurs for the song and dance. Arya smiled, taking Eragon's hand and saying in an undertone, "There is nothing to apologize for."

"That is most certainly true," Islanzadi chimed in, standing. She glided up to them, kissing Eragon's cheek and patting Arya's back fondly. "You have chosen well, daughter of mine. Go, now, and let your man's weary muscles be eased. He deserves it. Anasi, my dear! You have outdone yourself this time! Come, sit by me for a while."

Eragon, still confused, glanced at the other elves. They all were excitedly chatting about their Princess' fine mate. "What makes them all so proud of me after I embarrassed myself and you so publicly?"

Arya smiled, taking his arm under hers, leading him away from the bonfire. "Because, the love ballad of our family is sung only when a woman of our line finds a male suitable for her. If the man truly feels for her the way she feels for him, he will pick up on the undertone of the song; it will cause him to act rashly, to dance near the flames… In essence, you have proven your love for me."

Eragon's eyes widened. He was blown away – to think, the only thing he needed to do in order to get the elves' vote of approval was to dance.

Chucking to himself, Eragon leaned over to place a lingering kiss on Arya's lips. "You elves and your oddities," he teased, pulling her into his arms.

…

Author's Note:

Guys, this is getting ridiculous.

I have a life outside of fanfiction (dot) net. I understand receiving concerned emails and comments, wondering if I plan on having a new chapter up soon. **_But demanding that I post a new chapter is absurd – threatened me is outrageous. _**I have college, I have a job, I have friends, and I have three plays to direct, and I have my original writings. I have a lot on my plate. No offense meant to any die-hard fanfiction lovers, but writing these **fanfictions** is not, in my opinion, the most important thing right now. I am focusing on getting my degree and growing up – maybe a few of you who sent me **_threatening letters_** should do the same.

End Rant.

Sorry to those of you who have been patiently awaiting the next chapter. I am sorry for the delay, but it was necessary. I have had no time between casting RENT, plotting out WHY WE HAVE A BODY, and watching the finishing parts of RADIO TBS play out (all plays, written by other people, I am working on). I just really, really neded to get that out. It pissed me off when people thought they could floody my inbox with stupid stuff like 'ur such a bitch, you aint updated in tooo weeks. Im gunna find u and hurt ur kitten.'

I don't put up with juvenile shit; I just get angry.

Anyway, sorry again to those of you who are surprised by this.

The Eragon trailer is **a-freain'-mazing**! If you haven't seen it yet, you need to!

Songs used for this chapter:

"This Place is a Prison," The Postal Service

"Pierrot the Clown," Placebo

"Aquarius," Within Temptation (shamelessly ripped and used as the Drottningu ballad…)


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

**Truth**

Eragon lazed on the bed, expecting some sentry to be pounding on his door within the hour. It was very rare that he got a moment's peace during normal waking hours. Instead, he felt a slight buzzing in his mind.

Eragon sat up in bed quickly, rousing Arya. She rolled over, looking at his queerly. "Eragon?"

"Someone's trying to get into my mind," he answered promptly before throwing up barriers. For some reason, however, another force began to push at his mind, different that the first one. It pushed and shoved against his mental barrier, found a crevice, and wormed its way inside.

_Eragon!_

_Saphira?_ Eragon asked, dropping his guard. Her essence was then flooding his mind. He could feel her panic but could hardly understand it. _Saphira, what is it?_

_It's Murtagh! He's in danger!_

_Murtagh? _Eragon repeated, dazed. _What is Murtagh doing…_ It then dawned on him. If Murtagh was here, then he was with Nasuada. If one of the maids had walked in without heeding Nasuada's refusal of needing anything, he would have been spotted.

_Exactly,_ Saphira answered simply. _The maid screamed when she saw him. Three of the guards stationed outside ran in – that is when Nasuada called out to me. She said she couldn't reach you. They need your help, Eragon. The guards have called for backup – they are talking of overthrowing Nasuada's veto and having a public execution._

_Damnit! _Eragon cursed venomously, getting to his feet quickly and pulling his breeches on. As he reached for his tunic, he realized Arya was up, as well, getting dressed slowly and calmly. Somehow she was dressed before him, reached for her sword while Eragon struggled with his sleeve. "What has happened?" she asked softly.

"It's Murtagh. He is here, with Nasuada, and they have been found out. How many people know of his connections with Nasuada by now, I wonder?"

Arya's eyes widened, the first real sign of surprise marring her flawless features. "_Know_? They can never _know_…. It could tear this entire rebellion apart."

Eragon paused long enough to meet her gaze straight on. "I know."

…

"Stop it!" Nasuada screamed, one arm curled protectively around her stomach, the other reaching out for Murtagh as he was dragged forcefully from her bed.

"Have your senses left you, girl!" an older man of the council demanded. How he had come to be in her room, Nasuada was unsure. It had all happened so quickly. Everything had turned so fast, everything had gotten so _confusing_… "Did you _think_ that you would not be found out? This is the _enemy_, Nasuada! The _enemy_! What would your father say?"

"Do not dare mock me," Nasuada seethed, watching as the men holding Murtagh neared the door. "I am still ruler of this Varden! _Release_ _him_!"

The men released Murtagh, yet every one of them had hatred in their eyes. This was the man whom killed so many of their friends, brothers-in-arms, companions… This was the man whom they had been programmed to hate.

One young man, a loyal boy who had guarded Nasuada's door on many a night, exchanging pleasantries with her often, spoke up. "Why, my Lady? I have the utmost respect for you, yet…" he sighed, looking away. "Why would you lie with the enemy of your beloved father?"

Murtagh, who still sat on the cold stones he had been dropped upon, looked away from Nasuada. His face remained quiet and unobtrusive.

Nasuada closed her eyes sadly, answering softly, "My father trusted Murtagh."

"And look where that landed him," the female council member –Nasuada realized with a start that she couldn't remember her name- sneered.

Nasuada's eyes were ablaze with anger again. "Murtagh had nothing to do with my father's death! Can you truly blame a man for something he has not done!"

A shout from outside made all of them jump. Eragon entered, his new blade shimmering in the cold light of morning. Arya was close behind him, her sword still sheathed but in plain view.

Eragon blatantly disregarded Murtagh; instead, he made his way to Nasuada, who stood up quickly at the sight of them. Arya remained near Murtagh, looking cool and detached. She and Murtagh appeared to be the only ones not affected by the chaotic happenings in the room.

Eragon offered Nasuada his free hand, which she took gratefully. Nasuada, leaning heavily on her Rider, glared at the council members in turn. He took this time to analyze Nasuada. In his absence, she had gained weight. Her stomach was still relatively flat, but there was a softness beginning in her lower abdomen. Her breasts were larger; the material of her nightgown was stretched taunt over the full skin. Her cheeks had filled out, as well.

The council members glared back, yet not at Nasuada. At Eragon. "Shadeslayer… I should have known that you were in on this."

"He knew nothing of us," Murtagh snapped angrily, finally speaking up. "I just called him here by claiming his charming lady was in danger."

Eragon narrowed his eyes at the effortless lie as it passed through Murtagh's lips. What was this crimson Rider playing at?

One of the guards backed away from Murtagh, glancing warily at Arya. "How can you be so at ease near this _killer_?"

Arya glanced down at her sheathed sword, and then at Murtagh. "We are all killers. What makes him different for you, or from Eragon, or from me?"

"How can you defend this… this… this _man_ who has betrayed us to Galbatorix!"

"He did not join Galbatorix by choice," Eragon finally spoke, a hand rubbing comforting circles on Nasuada's back, as if to tell her what his voice could not. _Everything will be all right. We will protect him, if only for a time. _"Galbatorix found his true name and used it to bind Murtagh to himself. Can't you see?"

"Can't you see, Rider?" the boy yelled suddenly. "If we let this man go, then not only will it appear that we sympathize with him, but we will loose every moral standard we have!"

"Silence!" Nasuada ordered. The room fell quiet. "As Varden Ruler, I allow Murtagh to leave. However, he will not be allowed back into the premises of this castle or the Varden and Surda territories. Until this war is over, Murtagh, we are enemies." Nasuada's face was calm and emotionless. "Guards, stand aside. Allow the man to leave."

Eragon watched as the men parted, hatred still brimming in their eyes. Murtagh stood, slowly, glancing one last time at Nasuada and Eragon. He then glanced over at Arya, murmuring, "I seem to have been bumped on the head and have forgotten the way to the dragon Keep. Will you escort me?"

Arya saw there was something behind his eyes, something that he needed to tell her. She nodded, noticing that a few of the guardsmen sucked in breaths of disbelief. "I shall." To the guards, she added, "And if bad comes to worse, I can protect myself." That seemed to make the men more at ease. With that, the two turned and left.

Eragon helped Nasuada to sit down. She looked fatigued, sounding tired as she ordered, "Everyone, leave. I need some time alone."

"My lady?" Eragon asked, watching as the others filtered out.

"Stay with me, Eragon," she added. "Just for a while."

…

Saphira listened as Eragon and Arya stormed into the room, her mental link unobtrusively over-lapping Eragon's. She closed her eyes to better see through his eyes, lying in her large, satin-covered cushion. Everything was silent save for a distant _whomph-whomph _sound that, for some reason, seemed to be getting closer.

Saphira opened her eyes, losing connection with the happenings in the room, just in time to see a large bulk land in front of her. The force of the animal's landing caused the Keep to shudder a bit.

Saphira's eyes narrowed angrily. _You._

A low, ru,bling laugh filled her thoughts as the crimson dragon lowered himself into a crouch. _Thorn is my name, Saphira… Have you already forgotten?_

_How could I? _She spat angrily, snuffing a cloud of smoke from her nostrils. _I should tears your throat out where you stand._

_We are not enemies, Saphira, _Thorn laughed, as if highly amused by her show of bravado. _I would not be fighting along side Glabatorix if he did not know Murtagh's true name. _

Saphira, unwilling to allow herself to give into the dragon's charming words, snapped, _How did Galbatorix find out Murtagh's true name?_

_He has an elven prisoner, _Thorn said simply. _A very polite young man, when he is in a good mood. _

_How did Galbatorix come to be in control of an elf? _Saphira asked incredulously, forgetting her anger at the dragon. Perhaps having contacts on the other side wasn't so bad.

Thorn made a wheezing sort of laugh before murmuring, _Well, you have a bit of blame for that, though not directly. You see, when your egg was being transported, it had a three-elf band guarding it. When the Shade Durza attacked, one elf was killed and two were wounded to the point of critically near death. One was taken as a hostage, the other as a slave. The hostage was taken to Gil'ead. The prisoner, however, was given to Galbatorix, who loves nothing more than warping the minds and bodies of young men._

_No… _Saphira whispered, eyes widening. Could the elf truly be…? _What is the name of this elf?_

Thorn blinked, seeming confused. _I'm sorry? _He asked, as if not having heard correctly.

_The name of the elf! His name! What is it?_

Thorn looked alarmed but answered simply, _I hardly see how this helps, but the elf's name is Faolin._

The door to the Keep was thrown open and Murtagh stood there, looking as if he had heard all of the conversation through Thorn's connection. His lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, Murtagh glanced to his side. Arya stood there, unaware and oblivious.

"Thorn," Murtagh began softly, "have you been telling tales that could cause more grief for our friends?"

…

**Author's Note:**

I must first apologize for the lateness, and then say thing you to all of you – I haven't received a single threat in the past three weeks or so.

I planned on writing this so many times before now, but I got into this depressed-poet funk and sat writing dark, morbid things continuously. Just ask my lj buddies – they commented that I was getting too gloomy. ;)

Any-whoooo, a lot happened in this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it - I was having fun with all of the angst and screaming. J

Love love,

Lie

Megan

Songs for chapter: Everything on the "Back to Bedlam" CD by James Blunt. And the song "Everything" by Lifehouse.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

All I Wanted

Saphira and Thorn remained silent as Murtagh strode purposefully into the Keep, his feet kicking up hay. Arya followed more demurely, her feet noiseless as they moved across the room. Murtagh was speaking quickly and in such a way that made his grave words seem blasé.

"You see, Arya, we have very little time," he murmured, grabbing one of Thorn's thick spikes along his spine, hoisting his slim, well formed body onto the dragon. "Although the people here in Surda are suffering slightly from war, it is much worse for those under Galbatorix's rule. The longer you hold out, the longer you take to ready yourself, the more innocent people in the Empire die.

"I know no on is as close to dear Eragon than you," he sneered, voice suddenly crude with its implications. "So I thought it best to pass it on through you."

Arya glared but kept her voice level as she replied coolly, "I will tell him."

Murtagh grinned, but the expression was somehow angry, perturbed. "Make sure you do, elf. Make sure you do. I give you a fortnight before I try to take things into my own hands." With that, before Arya could question his meaning, Thorn let out a deafening roar before launching himself out of the Keep.

Arya glanced over at Saphira, who looked troubled. "What is it?" she asked, going to stroke the sapphire dragon's snout.

Saphira pulled away, her jewel eyes flicking toward where Thorn had disappeared. _Nothing, Arya Svit-kona, _she answered dejectedly, all the while wondering if she should tell the elf what had just been released. Faolin was alive. _I must go hunt, _she said quickly before also departing via the tall spire.

…

Eragon sat with Nasuada, cradling the ruler in his arms, much as an older brother would his sister. Her tears had abated somewhat, leaving her free to speak through the pain she was no doubt suffering.

"Eragon, I have been thinking long on the subject of what will happen after Galbatorix is overthrown."

Eragon smiled at her words; she was so strong, so sure of their cause and their success. "And what is it that you have concluded?"

"I… I know that many will suspect that I will take over the Empire… yet that is far from my goal," she continued, her voice taking up an urgency Eragon has not heard before. "I am through with ruling; I do not have the talent for it. It takes all of my energies just to fuel this rebellion of ours. Think of how I would fare if I were ruling all of Alagaesia!

"That is why I have decided that, once Galbatorix is overthrown, I will hand the crown over to you."

Eragon's eyes widened and he pulled away from Nasuada, turning her to meet his gaze. "Nasuada… I don't- I mean to say, you are so much better at leading than I am-"

"Murtagh and I have discussed it," she continued without pause. "If we both survive, he and I are to take our child and live somewhere far away. Somewhere surrounded by the country and woodbines. Somewhere to raise a child. Somewhere free of hatred and the bustle of city life. Eragon, I have my baby to think of."

_And I have Arya… _Eragon thought to himself, feeling a pang of unease. Arya would never want to rule over Alagaesia; she barely wanted to lead the elves when her mother retired from the throne. "Nasuada…" Eragon sighed, looking down. "I do not want to rule. I want everything you do – a safe, quiet place to settle down with the woman I love and the dragon whose heart is more dear to me than anything else."

Nasuada sighed, smiling jadedly. "Well… I suppose we do have some time before we are forced to make the decision." She patted his arm before kissing his cheek gently. "Go, then, and leave this crotchety pregnant woman to her thoughts. Go find your elf and let her know how much she means to you."

Eragon smiled, pulling Nasuada into a hug. "I think she already knows, but I shall do as my lady commands." He stood, leaving her quarters and feeling a bit lighter, a bit freer.

That was, until Saphira's clouded mind filtered into his. _Eragon, there is something important I must tell you. _

_What is it, Saphira? _Eragon asked, reaching out his mental tracker to find Arya. She seemed nearby, yet somehow far. _Do you know where Arya is? _

_Eragon, please concentrate! _She growled. _I was speaking with Thorn before Murtagh came to reclaim him. Eragon… have you ever wondered how Galbatorix found out Murtagh's real name? _

Eragon though about that for a moment. Truly, he hadn't ever realized how odd it was that Galbatorix knew the name. _My only guess is that he has an elf working for him, seeing as only the elves can help you find your own name. _His eyes then widened with understanding. _Saphira… how did Galbatorix secure an elf? _

There was a long, heavy silence before Saphira answered softly, _Eragon… it is Faolin. He was captured at the same time Arya was, but taken to Galbatorix instead of Gil'ead. _

Eragon felt his legs go weak at the mention of the name. Faolin. Arya's old flame. Her first true love. _No… _

_I am so sorry, little one. _

Eragon leaned against the stonewall, eyes closing in a pained way. _I… I must find her. _

_Eragon! _Saphira sputtered. _You mean to say that you are willing to bring up torturous memories so you can tell her? Eragon, this is insane! _

_Saphira, _Eragon began softly, _I promised Arya that I would never lie to her or deceive her. If Faolin is alive, I must tell her now. Can you imagine how she would react if she came face-to-face with him when we raid the castle? I would rather her go into hysterics and anger and pain here, surrounded by friends, then there while surrounded by armed enemies. _

Saphira sighed. _You are wise, little one, and very brave. Good luck. _

…

Arya was quickly going through the line of Urgals, sizing them and trying to find appropriate chain mail for each of them. Murtagh had been right; they were wasting precious time while many starved to death. It was unacceptable.

She felt Eragon enter the room and turned, a smile flitting over her features. The Urgal she had been sizing followed her gaze and cracked a large grin. "That man you?" he grunted, still struggling with the common tongue.

Arya laughed softly. "He is mine, yes, and I am his." She pulled away from the Urgal, bringing her measuring string with her, and called out to the approaching Eragon. "What brings you here at this time of day? Don't you already have your armor?"

He smiled, but she could tell something was wrong. The humor hadn't reached his eyes. "Arya, I need to speak with you," he whispered as he leaned in close, kissing her cheek.

"Can it wait another hour? I should have everyone fitted and the measurements ready for Kall-ep by then-" She paused when she watched the humor die from his face, leaving only anxiety and worry. "Alright. Boys, give me a moment," she called to the Urgals.

Eragon led Arya into a dark corner, turning to face her. He took her hands in his, struggling with his words. How to tell your lover that her previous fiancée is still alive? "Arya… did you hear any of Saphira and Thorn's conversation this morning?"

"Of course not, why?" Arya asked, looking confused. "Did Thorn have something important to tell Saphira?"

Eragon closed his eyes. "Arya… I don't know how else to say this to you, so I will be direct. Galbatorix learned Murtagh's real name from an elf… and elf we all thought was dead until now."

Arya's eyebrows creased. "Eragon… what are you trying to tell me?"

Eragon sighed. "Was there… is there… is there any way that one of the elves who guarded Saphira's egg with you survived?"

"No, that is impossible. I saw them both shot down. Eragon, what are you getting at?" Arya's voice was raising ever so slightly, a slight hint of hysteria creeping into her eyes. Eragon could tell by her expression; he subconscious new. She knew, somewhere deep down, what he was about to say.

"Arya, Faolin survived. And he is being kept as Galbatorix's prisoner."

Author's Note:

My God, I posted. Well, this time the delay was not my fault. It seems my computer has a virus, and it will not allow me to upload anything. It took me about three weeks to realize that this wasn't a ff (dot) net error, but my own damn computer. (Show you have technically literate I am, right?) Anywhoo, here's the next chapter.

**HAPPY WORLD AIDS DAY, EVERYONE**! Being an active member of the Broadway Cares Fight AIDS Campaign, as well as the ONE Campaign, I would like to say my heart goes out to you is you are a man or woman struggling with HIV or AIDS, or knows someone who is. I have two friends who are HIV positive, and I know for a fact that the world would be a less colorful, expressive world if they were not in it. (I love you Mark and Tina! **Muah**!)

Also, please note: I do not intend to stop writing this story. Honest. I mean, I am so close to the end, and so close to 1000 reviews, that stopping it would be stupid. Anyway, give me some

Love love.

Meg 


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

**Along Came a Spider**

Murtagh hadn't expected it to hurt as badly as it did. After all he had been put through, after all of the lashings, beatings, broken bones and salt-rubbed wounds, he hadn't expected this to be so bad.

And it hadn't - not at first. There was the initial pain as the pokers were placed along his skin, then the searing burn of the hot brand being shoved against his back. Yet, even after all of this, he hadn't expected there to be much more pain.

He had been wrong.

The burns bubbled up and puss covered the entirety of his back. The brand had been a large circle, leaving only his lower back and shoulder blades untouched. A dragon and crown motif rested in the middle of the brand. Murtagh was a marked man and he was a piece of property. Anyone who would ever see the skin of his back would know - he belonged to the crown.

Murtagh slowly had his way down to dinner that night, back throbbing. He felt a trickle of liquid running down his back, probably from another busted boil. Sickened with his own body, he entered the dinning hall.

Galbatorix watched him from his seat at the head of the table, his craggy old face stretched into a smile. "Really, Murtagh, what a lack of manners you have. Arriving late for dinner and then arriving without a shirt? Dinner in this palace is a formal affair, dear boy."

Murtagh ground his teeth. "If I didn't have puss and blood covering my back, I would be wearing a shirt, my lord," he spat angrily. "As it is, this little show of possession that you have inflicted on my back makes it rather difficult to do anything."

"Well, I really cannot allow you to be seen in my hall without a shirt," Galbatorix said silkily, a small smile on his thin lips. "Think what people might say."

Murtagh narrowed his eyes. So this was all part of it. Not only was he weakened by beatings and brandings, but then he was refused sustenance. He shook his head, shaggy dark locks flapping about him. "Fine, Galbatorix. Whatever you say." He made an obscene little bow before turning for the halolway he had just coem from. He felt the loose, growing skin stretch on his back, peeling away and causing new blood to rush up to the surface.

He was slowly falling apart, yet he sadistically enjoyed it.

Maybe I'll die before I have to watch my brother kill me.

The thought seemed to calm him as he made his way to the dragon's keep. He found Thorn munching away on a deer had hand caught. Shuriken was no where to be seen.

Thorn glanced up at him, alarmed.

Without a word, Murtagh turned and showed his destroyed flesh to his dragon. The dragon let out an enraged roar, demanding,

I can't… I have no energy. I haven't been eating and now Galbatorix refuses me entrance into the dining hall.

Angered by these words, Thorn pressed his crimson head against Murtagh's side, murmuring to his rider,

Murtagh nodded, tears coming to his dry eyes. _I still have Thorn at least_, he thought as he hugged his dragon's face to him. _As long as I have him, I will stand strong_.

…

Arya eyes widened as she took in Eragon's words. "Faolin…" _Alive? _It was impossible - but then again, there was no reason, no reason at all, for Eragon to lie to her about there. In fact, there was no reason for him to needlessly bring Faolin up in conversation. Eragon knew how close she had been with him. Eragon knew how deeply she had loved him. He would never lie to her about this.

Arya closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. She turned away from Eragon, walking back to the cluster of Urgals she had been fitting for chain mail. She continued out her measurements while airily telling one of them that yes, she did have something his size.

She could feel Eragon like a warm wind on the back of her neck. She did not turn to look at him, however. This was no time for her to break down or ask questions. Above all else, she had to make sure that the men around her were equipped and ready for battle.

An hour passed before Arya was done with her measuring. Eragon had slunk off to help the Urgals find their appropriate sized mail and leather tunics. Arya remained cheerful with the men and ignored Eragon's presence other than the, "Oh, thank you for your help."

When the last of the Urgals had filtered out, Arya collapsed onto a pile of leather jerkins. Covering her eyes with her hands, she muttered, "I really should have known."

"What do you mean?" Eragon asked softly, afraid to speak too loudly. He was organizing the breast plates by size, needing something to do with his hands lest he lose his mind.

"I knew things were going too smoothly. I should have realized that there was something else Galbatorix had." She shook her head, long dark tresses moving with the jerky motion. She removed her hands from her eyes, glancing up at Eragon. "You're worried about what I will do, aren't you? That's why you told me now. To see if I would leave you for Faolin."

"I don't know what you mean," Eragon evaded rather belatedly. He glanced down at the plates he was organizing, flustered. Was this a mistake to tell her?

Arya was suddenly there at his side, one of her hands running up his back, trailing into his hair. Her eyes were determined and very green. She tugged Eragon's lips toward her, kissing him fiercely. He become a prisoner to the mercy of her mouth and tongue, which seemed intent on ravaging him. She shoved Eragon roughly against the wall, the wall cushioned by fur-lined coats for winter expeditions. Her hands were under his pale green tunic, shoving it roughly over his head.

Eragon flushed, fully aware that just about anyone could wander in at any moment. And yet his hands were obviously not on the same thought process as his mind was. His hands were ulacing thee ties at the back of her tunic, letting the hard leather fall off with a soft _whoosh_.

As Arya's hands moved lower, she whispered huskily against his neck, "I am not leaving you, Eragon. You've made it impossible for me to love anyone else."

…

Nasuada looked at her reflection in the mirror, tracing the bump of her belly. Her breasts were swollen and painful, and Nasuada wished - not for the first time- that this baby would hurry up and come. Excitement boiled in her as she thought of the child lying in her arms, cooing at her smiles and wrapping stubby little fingers around her hair.

But then the sound of the war drums echoes in Nasuada's mind, and all she could think of was her baby dying on the battlefield, screaming in unheard agony within her. Nasuada shuddered and placed a protective arm around her stomach. She would not let this child die. She would not let go of the one, tiny piece of Murtagh that she still had.

Closing her eyes and drawing strength from the thought of the war soon being over, she turned to the door. It was time for the final war council.

…

Author's Note:

Holy cripes…. I am back. Sorry for the delay. My nasty little writer's block was followed by my move out of my parent's house and into my own place. That meant quite some time with no net access. But here I am, back from outer space. And here was your next (short, I'll admit) chapter.

Love love to you all,

Eternity


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Once Upon a Time

* * *

_She was there, right in front of him. Her coal black hair fell around her in loose waves, the braids taken out and finger-combed. She smiled and oh, she looked like an angel. She was dancing, her lithe little body twirling. Her crimson and golden skirt ballooned out around her, swirling around her calves._

_God, she was gorgeous. _

_He reached out to her, but she danced away, eyes laughing. Those eyes... mirrors to the kindness in her heart, the depth of her soul. Her very being was so colorful and full of ambience, he had no hope of every truly understanding it._

"_Mommy?"_

_A dark haired little boy wandered in, rubbing his eyes. She stopped her dance only long enough to scoop the child into her arms, cooing. "Drayden! How is my sweet boy?"_

"_Mommy I had a bad dream."_

"_Oh?" she asked as she twirled. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight._

"_I dreamed daddy killed you."_

_Nasuada only chuckled, nuzzling the child. "That would never happen, Drayden. Your daddy loves me."_

_Murtagh watched in horror as Nasuada spun with the little boy, her white blouse becoming stained with a flower of blood._

* * *

Murtagh awoke to the sound of laughter.

"Leave me, Razac."

Murtagh winced, recognizing the voice. Galbatorix. How he loathed the man. How he rued the day his father, Morzan, ever sired him. How he loathed his mother for leaving without him. How he hated them all.

"So... did you sleep well, Murtagh?"

Murtagh breathed deeply through his nose, ignoring the searing pain of his healing back. "Are you here to beat me again?"

Galbatorix laughed and Murtagh's blood ran cold. "No, boy, I am not here to beat you. I am here to take you down to the armory. It is time to fit you for armor."

* * *

Nasuada closed her eyes as Arya placed the breast plate over her. "You should stay here," Arya was saying gently. Nasuada ignored her words. She closed her eyes and thought of Murtagh, though of how things could have been.

"Nasuada?" Nasuada's eyes opened and she found Arya's cool, emerald gaze on hers. "Are you feeling alright?"

Nasuada attempted to smile, but it became a grimace very quickly. "No, but when was the last time I was alright?"

Arya, in a sudden display of womanly affection, took the young ruler in her arms. Arya's small body was warm and smelling of the forest. It made Nasuada nostalgic for a place she had never been, for a place she would probably never see.

"Nasuada, you _will _get through this. We will get you through this. We will protect you and I will personally promise you that you will not be harmed."

"I'm afraid for my baby," Nasuada whispered.

"Your baby will be fine," Arya assured her, rubbing the ruler's arms comforting. "I will make sure of it."

"Thank you," Nasuada murmured, eyes tearing over.

Arya brushed Nasuada's tears away, smiling gently. "Anything for you, my lady."

* * *

Eragon was uncertain how she managed to get into his room - let alone how she had gotten back into the palace. But there she was, shrouded in her black cloak, the hood pulled up.

"Trianna, what-" Eragon began, hand falling to his sword on his hip.

The woman's cool blue eyes gazed at him from the darkness of her cloak. "Surprised to see me?" She stood, throwing her hood back. "I figured you might want another magic wielder on your side. And seeing as Galbatorix and I had a little... disagreement... I am more than willing to rise against him."

The entire left side of Trianna's face was a mass of red, bubbled and burned flesh. Small boils sprang along the line of her jaw and Eragon could distinctly see a glitter of jaw bone poking from under seared flesh.

Eragon's mouth fell open. The once gorgeous sorceress was now nothing more than a mass of burned and putrid flesh. She offered him a smile that would have been cool and beautiful, had half of her face not been a mass of red.

"So... do you accept me back?"

* * *

Author's Note:

Here it is... finally.

Love love,

Lie


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

**A Murder of One**

_One for sorrow, two for joy_

_Three for girls and four for boys,_

_five for silver, six for gold_

_seven for a secret never to be told._

-"A Murder of One" by Counting Crows

* * *

Eragon couldn't believe his eyes. Was this really happening? Face-to-face with the temptress of his nightmares again... and not on the battlefield, but in his very own bedroom. And she was asking his forgiveness?

He narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms. "And how do I know that I can trust you, sorceress? If I recall correctly, you have done your damnedest to pry Arya and myself apart. Not to mention the fact that you left us with that damn doppleganger, knowing fully well that she was going to-"

"To what?" Trianna snorted. "Get attached to you and attempt to kill your elf? Or to lead you straight to Galbatorix? Don't you understand, Rider? She is of no real threat to you. Everything she could have done will be done regardless."

Eragon's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Trianna's eyes glittered dangerously. "Do you accept me back?"

Eragon thought deeply for a few moments. He had no proof that this was not some sort of trick; that Trianna bewitched her face and was playing on his sympathy. Not, of course, that Eragon had much sympathy for Trianna. She had wronged him too many times.

"I made an oath to never hurt a woman," Eragon muttered finally, "but Gods so help me, Trianna, if you betray us-"

"You mean if I betray you?" she interrupted smugly.

"Us," he repeated harshly, "The Varden. The resistance. If you betray us, then I will kill you personally and happily."

Trianna gave a rather mocking bow. "Of course, m'lord."

"Now," he said, "tell me what you meant by us following into Galbatorix's trap."

* * *

Arya was in the garden, as was custom most of her nights. She wandered between the peonies and lilies, touching little petaled heads here and there.

_You are troubled._

Arya turned, startled. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not heard the dragon come up behind her. She offered Saphira a soft, sad smile before murmuring, "A bit, I suppose. Everyone is, however."

_That is true enough, _Saphira allowed. _Yet your thoughts seem especially heavy this evening._

_A part of me wishes that the battle began now, _Arya confided through their mental link. She glanced down at the calla lily that brushed against her thigh. Leaning down, she pressed her face against the large, white blossom. _I cannot stand this waiting, this not knowing. I am much better at war then I am at peace._

_You know that is untrue, _Saphira chuckled. _You are simply anxious, my elven friend. Perhaps you should go keep our Rider company. I can feel his unease and fear even from here, trying to block him out._

Arya should have been used to Saphira's openness about her and Eragon's relationship, yet the informal wording still made Arya blush. "Saphira, really-"

_You know I do it just to see that cute little blush, _Saphira teased. _Go upstairs and -_

Saphira, however, cut off mid-sentence. Her head perked up and she seemed to tense. Arya's eyes widened and her hand dropped to her sheath. Scanning the gardens for any sign of intrusion, she whispered mentally, _What is happening, Saphira?_

_Trianna._

Arya hissed softly, crouching down into her fighting stance. _Where?_

_Not here, _Saphira said quickly, trying to ease the elf. _She is in Eragon's room._

_What?!_

_No, Arya, it's nothing like that. Eragon is safe and Trianna has made no threatening move toward him or the Varden. _She paused again, and Arya straightened, waiting for the dragon to finish her conversation with Eragon. Finally, Saphira continued.

_Eragon has been looking for you. He said your mind was shut off to him and he could not find you. In any even, the two of them are coming here. He says Trianna has information._

_Or she is trying to lay a trap for Galbatorix, _Arya groused. _I do not trust her one bit, Saphira. Eragon is too forgiving. He's too trusting!_

_Yes, _Saphira sighed. _He truly has the heart of a noble Dragon Rider, does he not? Compassionate, loving, full of forgiveness..._

Sighing, Arya could do nothing but agree and wait for her lover's arrival.

* * *

Trianna smiled as she approached the elf and dragon. The former had her arms cross at her chest, and head tilted back; very dominate, very on guard. The latter lazed in the pathway, her sizable bulk taking up most of the space. She was poking at a gardenia bush with her snout, sampling a few of the petals.

"Trianna," Arya greeted without warmth. Saphira simply snorted a greeting, going back to her flowery dessert.

Trianna stepped forward, her hood down, and offered Arya her most horrible smile. "Arya. Good to see you're still as beautiful as ever."

Arya's eyebrows narrowed and her face froze in a mask of shock. It took all of Arya's willpower not to touch her own face to make sure it was still unblemished and regular.

Trianna seemed pleased by this reaction and stepped back. "Galbatorix and I had a little disagreement. Naturally, after having him do this to me, I am more than willing to land a few blows against him."

"You wish to rejoin us?" Arya questioned.

"Join," Trianna corrected. "I was never really a part of the Varden; even then I was working for Galbatorix. I am here to pledge my loyalty to Nasuada."

"Then why come to my room?" Eragon questioned.

Trianna shrugged delicately. "I know she would never listen to me without the backing of her two most trusted friends. Between you and Arya, I knew you would be more likely to walk into your room without first checking for intruders. I would have been dead before Arya had even opened the door had I chosen her room."

Eragon flushed in shame but attempted to hide it. "Tell them what you told me. Tell them of the trap we are supposedly walking into."

Trianna sighed, as though this task was quite a chore. "Where to begin? First of all, the fact that you have this doppleganger in your midst is a terrible thing. You should have killed her the instant you found out. As it is, she is probably entering the dreams of every individual in the palace and relaying these things to Galbatorix."

"How?" Arya questioned, feeling cold dread creeping into her.

"Through his dreams," she said with a smirk. "Which, as you can imagine, is how he knows about your dear Varden leader being pregnant."

"No," Arya whispered, eyes widening. "If he knows-"

"Then he can do one of two things," Trianna interrupted. Her voice picked up in speed and lowered in volume. "Either he sends his Razac to kill her and only her on the battlefield; in which case, no matter how many guards she has, she will die. His Razac are strong and outnumber you easily.

"Or," Trianna continued, "he can claim her as his own. Because his branded pet, Murtagh, sired the child in her belly, that child belongs to Galbatorix. While the babe is in Nasuada's womb, that means that she is his, as well."

Eragon finished for her, confirming Arya's fears. "Once he has Nasuada in his clutches, he will break and brand her. He will warp her mind just as he has done with Murtagh."

Arya was trembling. How could she not have seen this coming? How could she not have prepared for this? What was she thinking, allowing Nasuada to go out with them into battle?

"She must stay here," Arya said quickly. "We must tell her this and convince her to stay. The risk is too great!"

"Her risk here is just as bad," Trianna interrupted. She met Arya's cold green eyes and said as gently as she could, "Did you forget? All of the fighters will be going with you, leaving only the weak, young and old here in the palace... as well as the Doppleganger and her unguarded dragon."

Arya's widening eyes met Eragon's. His were hooded, dark, as though there was a terrible thought stored behind them. Arya reached out to him, but his mind was blocked from her. "Eragon?"

"We have to dispose of the risk in order to leave her here," he murmured, voice resigned.

_Dispose? _Saphira asked, joining the conversation finally. _Do you mean to kill the doppleganger?_

Eragon nodded; a quick jerk of his head, up and down.

Arya shook her head. "No, Eragon. We can't kill her-"

"It," he and Trianna corrected automatically.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is. I remember it as a little girl who was as sweet as honey until I took the one she adored away from her. I will not allow you to kill her...it. No matter what she, or it, really is... it feels. It has emotion."

"Arya-"

"No, Eragon," Arya said sharply, making all present jump. "I will not allow it."

Trianna waited a few moments before saying, "There is one other way... but you will have to put all of your faith and trust in me."

Eragon glanced over at her. "What do you mean?"

"We do what Galbatorix does." Trianna's lips twitched upward. "We bind her to us. We break all of his mental barriers and make those of our own. She will be the Varden's second Rider once we are done with her."

Eragon met Arya's nervous gaze and then glanced at the quiet dragon. "Saphira?"

She sighed. _Do as you must, Eragon... but do nothing you will regret._

"This, Rider, you will regret," Trianna said with a sinister smile. "Oh, if you see how it is done, you will regret it very, very much."

"Is this the only way?" Arya questioned softly.

Trianna grinned. "It is."

_..._

_Author's note..._

_I am back. For how long? No one really knows. :p_


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

**The Hollows**

"This goes out to dirty dancing, cursing, back-masking,

back-slitting pastor's kids.  
As all us earth grows; some planted  
some pulled."

"The Hollows" by Why?

* * *

The dungeon was cold and wet as the trio walked down the steps. Trianna led the group while Arya lagged behind, her thoughts filling her with turmoil.

"Should we speak with Nasuada first?" Arya asked, her voice cool. Eragon could sense the undercurrent of fear there, however. Though Arya was far from a fan of the doppleganger, she could not see it as Knifr – she still thought of it as Abbila.

Eragon shook his head. "There is no time. If you wish to wait outside..."

Arya shook her head. "No. You will need my strength if this is as difficult a task as Trianna claims."

Trianna shrugged. "It should only require two of us. I will need her name, however." She glanced behind her at the two. "Her _real _name."

Eragon and Arya exchanged worried glances. Eragon then looked to Trianna, murmuring, "We do not trust you with that information. Tell us how to perform this and we shall do it ourselves."

Trianna rolled her eyes. "Fine, but this is only going to waste even more time. Dawn is not far off."

"Then give us the orders so we can do this," Arya snapped, seeming to have lost her patience.

Trianna raised an eyebrow. "Getting rather human in your emotions, I see... perhaps you should find an elven lover to cool that temper of yours down."

"Trianna," Eragon warned.

She shrugged before crossing her arms. "What you will need to do is enter her mind. I suggest Eragon do this; Arya can bind her so she won't flail too badly. Once you are in her mind, she will try to throw up barriers. You need to either wiggle around them or crush them, whichever is easiest for you.

"Once you get past those barriers, you will start noticing that parts of her are bundled up in red, glowing threads. You will want to carefully cut those red threads and replace them with commands and bindings of your own. You must be careful, however, to not harm her thoughts."

"And if he accidentally cuts into the thoughts?" Arya asked gently.

Trianna was silent for a moment before murmuring, "She would become unstable in most cases. In others, she would be completely unmanageable. Depending on what thought bundle you harmed, it could result in her death, or changes in her reactions, her judgments..."

Eragon felt the weight of this burden upon his shoulders. He walked up to Knifr's cell, placing his hands on the wrought iron. She was curled up in the corner, fast asleep. Arya came up beside him, pressing the key into the large keyhole, turning.

Arya stepped inside first, going to the doppleganger's legs and hands. She quickly and effortlessly tied the girl's limbs. Knifr's eyes then opened, the bight emerald of them shocking against the pale skin. "Youuuu," it hissed, no longer reassembling Abbila.

Eragon was glad the doppleganger's eyes were green and not the pale, pale bue of Abbila's. If they had been the same as hers, he would never have been able to do what he did now. Eragon took the sides of her face in each hand and plunged into her mind.

Every barrier that she tossed up was too slow to keep him out. His essence wiggled between each and every one, making it closer and closer to the mind chakra, the energy place. He could already see the glowing, red threads of Galbatorix's control.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he reached out to Arya's mind. _Arya, I need you now._

_Of course, _she responded. He vaguely felt her fingers twining with his, her other hand resting on his shoulder. He felt a steady stream of her energy flowing into him. With this added edge, he set to work.

He slowly cut away at all of Galbatorix's tight bindings, watching as they were stripped away and disappeared with a faint glimmer. Arya kept his mind and nerves steady, her warm, earthy energy filling his bones.

It took some time to get all of Galbatorix's bindings undone, but finally it was done. Then Arya seemed to push him gently to the side. _Would you like me to take over?_

_Please, _Eragon murmured, relieved. His concentration was beginning to slip. How long had they been in her mind? His energies were failing him. Only Arya's help kept him centered.

And then there was suddenly another force in Abbila's mind with them. Trianna's hand rested on Arya's back, her free hand on Eragon's shoulder. Her power was a pale plum and swept through Knifr's mind. The purple traced around Eragon's blue and Arya's green, giving them strength.

It was then that Arya began for forge the new boundaries of the doppleganger.

_You shall obey only those loyal to the Varden. Listen to only the Dragon Rider, your master in the Varden, or his leige lord, Nasuada. You will not cause any harm to anyone protected by the Varden. You will cease your open hatred and distrust toward anyone in the Varden. You will ride into battle against the Empire under the Varden flag and will protect those of the Varden. If it comes down to it, you will kill Galbatorix or any of his followers unless otherwise stated by Eragon Shadeslayer. _

_Are we understood, Knifr Laim?_

There was a reverberating silence as Knifr's mind seemed to adjust to the new boundaries. Instead of red thread, there was now a beautiful mix of emerald, sapphire and amethyst. Finally, she answered them. _I understand and I will obey completely._

The trio slowly withdrew from her mind. They were all wobbly and took a moment to regain their bearings. When Eragon felt that his mind was well enough for conversation, he murmured, "We should take her upstairs. To a room or something."

"I agree," Arya replied, her chest rising and falling with her accelerated breathing. It seemed that their tasks had taken more out of her than Eragon had originally thought. "But only so long as we have guards on her door. She does not leave without our knowledge."

"Agreed," Trianna nodded, still a bit breathless. Her human frailty was displayed in stark relief. Eragon realized, with a start, that he was now certainly more elf than man.

"Lets get her to a room and then we should all head off to rest," he said, getting to his feet. He offered his hand to the two and, with their help, took Knifr upstairs to a room.

_Follow me once we leave Knifr's room. _Arya sent to Eragon mentally. _We must go speak to Nasuada. There is no way I am allowing her onto the battlefield if Galbatorix knows of her pregnancy._

_Of course, _was Eragon's simple reply.

* * *

Knifr awoke, feeling groggy but knowing that the coming day would be a much better one than the last. She was in a bed; the room she was in was small and sparsely furnished, but she was on a mattress and pillows. She sighed in contentment, stretching out and popping her back as she did so.

_Briam, _she called, reaching out for her dragon's mind.

_I am here, Abbila! _There was a moment's hesitation before he corrected, _Knifr..._

Knifr smiled softly to herself. _Worry not, my precious. I will go by Abbila publicly so long as I am bound to the Varden._

_Do you mean...?_

_Yes, _she murmured with a sigh of contentment. _We are no longer under Galbatorix's spell. Eragon has put a new enchantment in place. We shall ride with them to battle come morning._

Knifr did not need the mental link to hear Briam's victorious cry to the night air. Knifr smiled, laying back against the soft pillows. She fell asleep to her mental mantra of, _Soon, soon, soon._

* * *

Nasuada twisted and turned in her bed, caught in the grasp of a darkened dream. She kept seeing flickers of her father and her mother, or what had to be her mother... or perhaps it was Nasuada herself, a decade older.

And then there was her unborn child, curled gently between her ribs and pelvis.

Nasuada felt tears stinging her eyes but something stopped her from crying openly. She turned. There was something – was it a sound? She couldn't be sure. It was as if every one of her senses had been turned off, save for sight. She could tell there was something wrong – but what?

And then he was standing before her. Her father, her tutor, her only real friend in the world. "Daddy?"

He smiled, but it looked forced. He reached out to her, touching her forehead with his large thumb. "You were destined for greatness, my daughter. Accept your fate or it will swallow you alive."

"But father, what-"

And then he was gone, disappearing in wisps of smoke. And then there was a world dangling above her; forests and deserts and oceans, all swirling around like some crazy, apocalyptic nightmare. The world was coming toward her, barreling down, coming to crush her.

Nasuada screamed, covering her face with one arm, her other around her stomach.

But the world did not crush her, it engulfed her. She was in the forest, and there were people dancing around her. Dozens of dark skinned, bright eyes people. They were chanting and it was all in the Ancient Language.

And suddenly, it all made sense to her.

* * *

When Eragon and Arya approached Nasuada's door, they were alarmed to find the guard nowhere in sight and the door wide open. The pair rushed into the room, only to find the guard there, panicked and trying to shake Nasuada awake.

"What has happened?" Eragon demanded quickly.

"She won't wake up," the guard cried, looking from Eragon to Arya. "She was screaming and now she won't wake up! Please, Argetlam, Princess, save her!"

Eragon went to the bedside, fear clogging his heart and making it hard for him to breathe. Yet Nasuada looked peaceful; she was breathing regularly and looked as well in health as he had ever seen her.

"Arya?" Eragon asked, his eyes wide as they looked at the bemused elf.

"She breathes," Arya murmured, moving to place one hand under the Varden ruler's neck. The other hand went to Nasuada's stomach. After a moment, Arya pulled back. "She is warm to the touch and the baby is kicking bountifully. She is stuck in a dream, it seems. I can find nothing wrong with her bodily."

"There is nothing wrong with her?" The guard asked, his wide eyes scared.

"Not that I can tell," Arya confirmed. "Wait outside. We shall alert you if she wakes or something happens."

"Of course, m'lady," he bowed quickly before departing to his post.

It took nearly twenty minutes for Nasuada to awaken. When she did, she cried out, "ERAGON!"

Startled, Eragon shot over to her bed and took her hand. "I am here, Nasuada." He noticed Arya steal over to the door, alerting the guard of Nasuada's waking.

Her eyes were bright and alert as she gazed up at him. "Eragon, it's me."

Eragon's eyebrows furrowed. Arya came to sit on Nasuada's other side, taking her other hand. "What do you mean, Nasuada?"

Nasuada's smile was pristine. She leaned back into her bed, sighing, "I am the last of the Grey Folk."

* * *

Author's Note:

So, going back to the times when I'd tell you the musical inspirations to my chapter (which I just found out people actually go listen to these songs... which makes me very happy!)... Lets see. I listened to nothing but Anberlin for this chapter. Mainly "Fin," "Dismantle, Repair," "Alexithymia," "The Haunting," "Paperthin Hymn," and "Creep." I needed some deep and dark stuff for this one. :)

Also – I honest to God mean to finish this damn story if it's the last thing I do. I really want to get it done before the third anniversary of this story being up – which would be the 28th of next month. So, you can expect this story to have about three to five more chapters, depending on the fillers I choose or ignore (I have a lot of fuzzy ideas running around, so I am still a little unsure how it will end).

And anyway... As for the comments about my chapter length – that's just how it is. I mean... at least I am finally writing it, you know? I know I used to write 7-9 pages a chapter, but that was back when I had the time to do so. I was, like, sixteen and had no life, haha. If it really bothers you so much, just wait until two chapters come out and then red them both. :)

Anyway, thanks for all of the comments.

Love love,

Eternity


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

**Warrior Poets**

* * *

Saphira had very little rest after the garden meeting with Eragon, Arya and Trianna. She had attempted to sleep, knowing that she needed all of her strength.

But, just as she had begun to drift off into a fitful sleep, a small, hesitant voice entered her mind. _Saphira?_

Saphira's eyes opened slowly and she saw Briam's green, glistening head poke through from the lower level of the roost. He looked scared half to death; but after their last encounter, Saphira hardly blamed him. _Hello, Briam. You may come up if you wish._

Briam slowly lifted himself to her perch and laid on his old pallet in the corner. He watched her carefully before saying softly, _I apologize for any hurt we've caused. You must understand, Saphira... I do as my Rider tells me. No matter what my feelings are, no matter what I wish I could do... I must do as she commands. My dedication to her is unwavering. If she says sing for Galbatorix, I will attempt song. If she says die for Eragon, I will protect him, and you, with just as much vigor._

Saphira sighed, resting her head on her forearm. _I understand, Briam. It is not you I should be angry with... or your Rider, either. Galbatorix is behind all of this and he shall be punished for the pain he has caused us. All of us._

_So..._ Briam ventured hesitantly. _Do you forgive me?_

_There is nothing to forgive. _Saphira closed her eyes, adding, _Get some sleep. We do not have much time before we are summoned to the front line._

* * *

The dawn had not come yet, but Nasuada insisted that Eragon and Arya leave her and retire to the front gates. "They will begin assembling soon," she murmured softly, her eyes seeming glazed but at peace.

"It is still early, Nasuada," Eragon murmured, stroking the young woman's hair. "We can stay with you for as long as you need us."

Nasuada shook her head, her gentle expression soothing. "Eragon, listen to me. I do not need you both here to watch me sleep. Though it is a valiant gesture, it is unneeded. I do, however, have something to give you before you go."

Eragon watched as she leaned back into the bed and her mental voice, so strong and rich, echoed through his brain. _V__anyalí_ _un weohnata._ _Memorize that, Eragon, for that is the name of all in existence. That is the name for the magic around us; the entirety of existence depends on the safe guarding of that one name. _

_Yes, my Lady, _Eragon responded, feeling a new sense of awe toward this young woman. The last of the Grey Folk. The holder of more power and knowledge than anyone else.

"Go, both of you," she whispered. "I must sleep."

"You agree not to come to the battle, correct?" Arya questioned, patting the woman's hand.

"Yes, you mother hen," Nasuada chuckled. "I feel better staying here now. My purpose is now fulfilled; I am the Grey Folk of legend and I have assisted as much as I am able."

Eragon and Arya leaned forward simultaneously, brushing soft kisses against the mother-to-be's forehead. "Sleep well, Nasuada," Eragon murmured. "Take care of this child so I will have a niece or nephew in my arms in a six months' time."

Nasuada smiled, eyes still closed. "Of course, Eragon. We shall be here when you return."

* * *

As Nasuada had said, there were already people milling around the front gate. Some sat quietly in small groups, huddling together for warmth and companionship. Others paced; some sharpened their weapons or prepared their arrows. Those with horses were either brushing the animals down or feeding them handfuls of oats.

"Eragon."

Eragon turned and was amazed to see Trianna approaching, followed closely by Knifr. Knifr had freshened up; her eyes were the same pale blue as Abbila's had been and her smile was tentative.

"Trianna. Knifr," Eragon greeted.

"If you wouldn't mind," Knifr began softly, her voice calm, "I would like very much if I could go by Abbila."

Eragon couldn't help the small smile that crept up to his features. "Of course."

Trianna nudged Abbila and the girl started before blushing. "And, um... I wanted to say..." she sighed brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her face. "I'm sorry. About everything. I took things much too far when I attempted to have Arya killed and..."

"Why don't you tell us about your condition?" Arya suggested. "And be honest. How are you feeling right now? Are the bindings the same as Galbatorix's?"

Abbila shook her head. "There was pain with Galbatroix's. Constant pain. I think that is why I never tried to rebel against his bindings. But yours... I feel so many presences in my mind, and they are all beautiful. There is no need for me to fight this."

"Do you think that you would ally with us even if the bindings were removed?" Eragon questioned.

Abbila thought on that for a while. "I cannot honestly tell you. I think, had the bindings been removed, I would have taken Briam and myself far, far away. These wars are not the will of the doppleganger – or of any magical creature."

Arya nodded. "I understand fully. With the bindings in place, however, you will ride into battle with us?"

Abbila nodded. "Briam and I shall do our very best."

Eragon nodded, patting the girl's shoulder. "That is all we ask. And I promise you, if you fulfill your end of this bargain, we shall release your bindings all together. You and your Dragon will be free to roam as you will."

Abbila's eyes widened and just a hint of the doppleganger's green eyes came through. "Really?" she asked excitedly.

Eragon and Arya nodded in time.

Trianna glanced up to the sky; it had seemed to darken even more in the past moments. "The sky is always darkest before the sun comes up," she murmured, rubbing her mare's nose. "Perhaps you both should call your dragons. Dawn approaches on swift wings."

* * *

The sun came up slowly and found Eragon perched atop of Saphira, Arya sitting in front of him. He glanced over to where Briam, now big enough to be about Saphira's size, stood. His regal green head was being stroked by Abbila's tiny hand. Seated behind Abbila was Trianna, who looked calm and as humble as Eragon had ever seen the woman.

"Eragon, Arya," a voice called from their left. Angela was running toward them, Solembum threading between the people in order to keep up with the witch.

"Angela," Eragon and Arya responded instantly. "What is it?" Eragon added, glancing toward the sun. "We must be on our way."

"Yes, I know. Take this, both of you." She handed them each a small talisman. Eragon's was a small stone of lapis lazuli. "For protection from mental and psychic attacks," Angela murmured. Arya's was made of turitella argate, "For protection against spells. And for Saphira," she added, taking out a long cord with a small tiger iron stone dangling from it. "This will send any spell hurled at you back to the magician who sent it." Saphira lowered her head, allowing Angela to slip it onto her neck.

"I have one for you, Briam, as well," she added, taking another cord to the other dragon. She placed it around the other dragon's neck before moving down to Abbila. "As for you, shapeshifter..." She handed a small talisman of chrysoberyl to her. "For protection from possession. Galbatorix cannot enter your mind unless you remove this."

Abbila nodded, clutching the little yellow stone. "I understand."

Angela glanced at Trianna. "I trust you have your own stone, sorceress?"

Trianna pulled a small pendant of petalite from within her tunic. "That I do, witch. I come prepared."

Angela grinned. "It is too bad you were not more readily prepared when Galbatorix shoved you into the fire pit of his."

Trianna flinched, one hand rising to her once-beautiful face. She looked away from Angela and said nothing more. Eragon felt a twinge of pity for the woman before he forced himself to call out, "Dawn breaks – so does Galbatorix's hold on us! Let us march in the capitol and show all of Uru'baen what we are made of!"

Both dragons cried out simultaneously, Saphira letting out a huge column of fire from her snout. Saphira and Briam launched themselves into the air, circling above the crowd gathered below. The humans, elves and Urgals howled below them, cheers rising up to meet the morning sky.

* * *

The air whipping through Eragon's hair felt like the presence of the Gods themselves. Arya seemed to feel something different in the air, as well. She tilted her face back, letting the air flutter over her visage, filtering through her dark eyelashes. Eragon's arms tightened around Arya and he rested his head against hers.

_There is a changing in the wind, _Trianna called to them all mentally. _Can you feel it?_

_Aye._

_Yes._

_I do, too! _Abbila said, her childish enthusiasm ringing through their minds.

Arya's hand tightened on Eragon's. _We are nearing the end now._

_No, _he corrected, kissing her temple. _We are embarking on the beginning._

* * *

Author's Note:

Okay, so, for this chapter I needed a lot of good, fast-paced music. So, I chose one of my new favorite bands, The Classic Crime. The songs used for this chapter were, "The Fight," "I Know the Feeling," "Warrior Poet," and "The Coldest Heart."

So, yeah, the end is nigh. I am pretty stoked, honestly. I am hoping to get this all churned out by tomorrow before my Muse disappears for another four months. So yeah, anyway... Sorry, I think I've immersed myself so fully in Eragon that my own life doesn't really seem real anymore. Thank God I don't have to work this week. :p

** ALSO.**.. with how many hits this story is getting, I should be seeing a lot more reviewing. Keep that in mind that I want this thing to have a colossal amount of reviews before I update. Well, maybe not colossal, but I at least want to get to **1310**.

Thanks a bunch.

Love love,

Eternity


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

**Run to the Water**

* * *

Three days had seemed to pass much too slowly. Yet, suddenly, the grand and dark spires of Uru'Baen rose before the ground militia. The horses, as if sensing everyone's unease, began to get jumpy. A few reared, letting out sharp cries that pierced the oncoming night air.

Arya felt Eragon tensing behind her, his grip on her waist seeming to become even tighter. His mind was a swirling mess of emotions – mostly, fear.

_We will be fine, _Abbila sent them all, sensing the sudden change of emotion.

_Briam, would be you kind enough to land, please? _Trianna requested softly. Briam did as he was bade without question. He was closely followed by Saphira, who first circled the entire brigade of soldiers to ensure there were no stragglers far off in the distance.

When Saphira did land, Eragon and Arya found Trianna moving from one horse to the next, whispering soft words and petting the animals in soothing strokes along the forehead. She had a way with animals, for she was able to calm them all without using the Ancient Language once.

"Your orders, Argetlam?" a foot soldier asked softly, inclining his head respectfully to Eragon.

Eragon glanced among the assembled troops, eyes lingering between his three closest companions; Trianna, Abbila and Arya. Finally, he said in a voice both gentle yet carrying, "We shall rest and ready ourselves for battle tomorrow. I shall require one scout to go ahead and announce this to Galbatorix."

There was a sudden collective murmur and many men backed slowly away from the front line, as if to save themselves. The elves were all silent and stony-faced, looking to Arya for an order. They did not appear to be afraid of the task, yet the didn't seem willing to volunteer outright, either.

Eragon nodded slowly to himself. "Then I shall go. If someone would lend me their steed?"

Arya shook her head. "No, Eragon. I don't trust Galbatorix to honor safe passage to messengers – not when the messenger is you. I will send one of the elves-"

"We need them in the final battle," Trianna argued. "One of the Urgals can go."

"Urgals are stronger then men, though," Abbila put in. "You could always send me."

"No," The three said together. Arya then added, "I don't want Galbatorix getting his claws into you and rearranging your head. You are one of the Riders... you cannot be a casualty before the war even begins."

Finally, one soldier raised his arm hesitantly. "I will go, Sir Eragon."

* * *

Murtagh watched from the ramparts as the lone messenger approached. He rode a young-looking mare with a proud head and regal air about her. He motioned for all of the bowmen to hold their fire as the man rode toward them.

"Halt!" Murtagh called. "Bring you news?"

"Aye!" the messenger called back. The man's voice quivered and he spared a single glance behind him to the encampment only a mile or so off. "We of Surda and the Varden come to challenge the rule of King Galbatorix!"

Murtagh nodded. "And when do you plan to advance your attack?"

"Tomorrow at dawn's first light!" was his response. "Where is the King so that I may tell him personally?"

Murtagh smiled gently to himself. "There is no need, sir. I am Galbatorix's Rider and you may rest assured he will receive this message. For this, he has waited an unparalleled amount of time. Tomorrow, then, I will see you again. Go back to your camp and pray to whichever God you believe. You will need much more than an extra dragon to save you tomorrow."

With that, Murtagh turned away and began to walk to the stairs. "Do not shoot him," he added to the archers, who seemed to be itching to pull arrows from their quivers. "We may be evil, but we still have honor."

* * *

Nasuada broke into a cold sweat, a deep pain shooting through her abdomen. Her thoughts were scattered; she wasn't sure where she was or why she was standing outside of the castle. Harsh winds wiped sand across her with enough force to cut.

"Where..." Nasauda began, her voice just a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Nasuada," a soft, motherly voice murmured. "I had no choice. I had no other choice, Nasuada, you have to understand."

Nasuada squinted through the sandstorm swirling around her. Angela's frizzy hair and saddened expression was all she could make out. "What's happening, Angela?" she asked, for once feeling calm. She was unworried. She was unconcerned.

Angela closed her eyes. "Fate, my dear. Fate is happening."

The massive shape of a dragon came crashing through the sandstorm, the black-scaled animal letting out a deafening cry that sent Nasauda's ears ringing. She looked up at the huge dragon dressed in full battle armor, and then the Rider sitting atop of him.

"Galbatorix," she greeted. There was no fear in her voice or her eyes. She placed a hand over her swollen belly casually, as though she were simply resting her hand.

"Nasuada," he returned with a smile. "I believe you have something inside of you that technically belongs to me. Now please don't make this difficult for me, dear. I have to conserve my energies for tomorrow."

"You will not harm my baby," she stated quite plainly.

"You are correct," he murmured reasonably. "Your child will come to no harm – nor will you. You are simply a pawn in this Nasuada. Bait, as one could call it. I have no intention of hurting you. Now come," he added, offering her his hand, "Allow me to help you up."

Nasuada looked back to Angela who had tears tracing down her wizened face. "I am so sorry, m'lady. It was in the bones..."

Nasuada only nodded, turning back to Galbatorix. Following what she had seen Eragon and Abbila do regularly, she stepped up on the bend of Shurikan's knee, sliding up onto his back. She held on to Galbatorix without a word and the dark ruler called, "Take us home, Shurikan."

_Of course, master, _he replied, voice like gavel. _Hold on, Lady Nasuada._ And with little effort, his formidable body launched itself into the air.

* * *

"Sir Eragon, there is a dragon circling the towers," one of the guardsman called softly to where Eragon, Arya and Trianna sat silently.

"Let it be," Eragon replied. "They have been kind enough to honor our rules; no skirmishes until dawn. We should return the gesture."

The guard, though it was evident he did not agree to this, nodded. "Of course, sir. I just thought, if we were able to take out one of the dragons-" His voice faded off, however, and he silently went back to his patrol.

Trianna's scarring, fire-pitted face glanced up at Arya and Eragon. "The mages are all prepared with a variety of magicks... but I have a terrible feeling about this, Eragon. Something is different. I feel like we have miscalculated something."

"I've been feeling it, as well," Arya agreed. "Yet there is nothing we can do now. We are here and tomorrow we shall fight and live or fight and die. Either way, we shall do so honorably."

Eragon nodded mutely, watching as Abbila and Briam, curled up together just to the left of Eragon, slept soundly. Saphira nudged him from behind, murmuring, _You have done all you can do, little one. Do not fret; they know the risk they take._

Eragon nodded. _I guess I just... I keep thinking of her as a little girl. In some ways, I think the form she's taken rubs off on her. She really is a child now. _

Saphira agreed. _I think she prefers being a human child. She is accepted this way; she has friends. _

_And Briam?_ Eragon questioned. _How does he feel?_

Saphira sighed sagely. _He is happy with his Rider's choice but will do whatever she sees fit to do._

_And that includes returning to Galbatorix's side, if she decides to?_

_Yes, little one. It includes that._

* * *

"Eragon, I do not trust him."

Eragon glanced down at Arya from where he sat atop Saphira. "Neither do I, Arya, but I will not have that pompous, poor excuse for a King thinking that I fear him. Or his Rider." Eragon glanced back to the middle of the field where Galbatorix and Murtagh, both riding their dragons, sat in wait. Their forces stood silently behind them, waiting.

Arya nodded, running a hand over Saphira's shiny, silver armor. "I will wait for you here."

Eragon offered her a faint smile, nodding. "Abbila," he called, "are you ready?'

Abbila, wearing chain mail and a silver helm over her blonde hair, approached Briam. The green dragon was covered in Saphira's old armor, the one the dwarves had slaved to make. He looked proud and regal as he bent for Abbila. The girl clamored onto his back before smiling hesitantly at Eragon through her up-placed visor.

"I am ready, Argetlam," she said with a soft smile. "This is what you have trained me for."

Simultaneously, Saphira and Briam shot into the air like twin arrows, flapping their mighty wings. They were soon landing right in front of Shurikan and Thorn. The dragons of the Empire looked sagely and calmly at the two dragons of the Varden.

_Hello again, Saphira, _Thorn murmured so assembled dragons and riders could hear. There was a hint of mirth in his voice and he bowed his head slightly. _It is good to lay eyes on your lovely scales again. _

_Thorn, _Saphira returned cordially. _You remember Briam, I am sure._

_Only as the egg did I see this one, _Thorn murmured.

_Enough foolishness, _Shurikan snapped. _There is a battle to be waged and you are exchanging pleasantries? _

"It does not have to end in bloodshed, Eragon," Galbatorix murmured, his voice shockingly steady for an older man. The vibrato in it was strong; a rich bass that seemed to hum. Eragon was almost positive that, in his youth, Galbatorix had been one of the most popular men of his time.

"You're right," Eragon murmured. "You could always hand over your reign and take Shurikan somewhere far away from here."

Galbatorix's smile was infinitely patient as he looked kindly down upon Eragon. "You know nothing of what you speak, boy. Do you not understand what a task it is to rule? How difficult it is? Your Varden would wilt under the responsibility. The people would run amok in the streets, crying for your blood!"

Eragon looked at Murtagh. His brother looked decades older – his face was lined with miniscule scars and a few worry lines at the brow. Eragon could only imagine what horrors Murtagh's body had faced. "Trust me, Galbatorix... I wish we could solve this some other way. But neither one of us wants the other to be in control... so what other way is there? What other way then to turn brothers against one another?"

Galbatorix nodded, his smile slipping. "What other way, indeed."

Shurikan shifted his weight from one foot to another before murmuring, _It pains me to have to kill you, sister. I had hopes that you would be wise and come to our side. We could have rebuilt our race under Galbatorix's safety. _

Saphira shook her head and her voice was saddened as she spoke. _It pains me, as well, yet there is no other way. A life without freedom is no life at all – not even for a dragon._

_And you call serving that boy freedom? _Shurikan laughed. _No dragon who has a Rider is free, my dear._

_You are wrong, _Saphira sighed, shifting her wings. _Eragon and I are friends, life-long companions, partners. I love him as if he were my own brother, Shurikan. I do not fear him, as you fear Galbatorix. Eragon does not own me; I am free to leave at any time. And that is where the true difference between being free and enslaved lies._

"So, this is how it must be?" Murtagh asked.

"This is how it must be," Abbila answered, her voice calm. Eragon looked over at her and realized that she was making her own choice with those words. This was not the bindings Eragon, Trianna and Arya put in place; these words were hers, and she was on their side.

With a rush of wings, the four dragons lifted into the air, flying back to their opposing sides.

* * *

Saphira and Briam touched down and the entire Varden became silent. Eragon raised his arm and cried out, "We shall fight as one today! No matter what happens and no matter who prevails, we are all heroes! Those who survive will write the history – but it is those who die who will make it! Fear not this death that might await us! Put your faith in your swords and your shields and your hearts will lift you! We are strong and we are proud!"

"We are the Varden!" they cried, swords raised high in the air.

Eragon slid off of Saphira, turning to Arya. Her eyes were shining with pride as she gazed upon him. She pulled him into a quick kiss, whispering, "You are so much more than a simple farm boy, Eragon."

He smiled softly, murmuring in the Ancient Language, "Yes. And it is you who has made me this way."

It was then that he helped her up onto Saphira's back and cried out to Abbila, "Are you sure you can ride with Trianna at your back?"

Abbila nodded, taking her bow out and turning her quiver so it was in front of her, not at her back. "Yes! She will be fine so long as she doesn't cast a spell on me!"

Trianna snorted as she climbed onto Briam behind Abbila. "We're ready, Eragon."

Eragon raised his sword, glancing across the field to where Murtagh and Galbatorix sat in front of their large army. "To victory!" he cried.

The valley was suddenly filled with the sounds of battle cries as the men charged.

* * *

Arya was feeling her energies fading quickly as she cast multiple stone-showers on a group of Empire soldiers below her. Saphira was weaving wildly below her; Arya had to squeeze her thighs tightly around the dragon just to hang on.

_It's Eragon, he's throwing my balance off! _Saphira cried, her voice distressed. _He's never ridden from my tail before! Curse Brom for ever mentioning it to him! Curse him for remembering during a _battle!

_Hush, Saphira! _Eragon cried. He was launching arrow after arrow from his bow, laying length-wise along the dragon's tail. It made Arya nervous to look at him, so she concentrated on picking off soldiers from the air with her bow.

And then Saphira cried out sharply, _Arya, get _down!

Arya ducked just in time to feel a gale-forced wind whip right over her. Thorn had plummeted nearly on top of them and it was all Saphira could do just to avoid him.

The crimson dragon circled around, his tail waving wildly. Murtagh smirked, calling out, "Arya, I would rather not harm that lovely face. Why don't you have the real Rider come up and take the seat?"

An arrow zoomed just past Murtagh's face, narrowly missing. Eragon, from his perch on Saphira's tale, smirked. "Have you mastered riding on the tail yet, Murtagh?"

Murtagh chuckled. "No. But I doubt you have, either." And then Thorn dove – not toward Arya, but toward Eragon.

_Eragon! _Saphira cried, swinging wildly out of Thorn's way. Eragon's own distressed yell filled the air as he dropped his bow, gripping tightly to Saphira's tail. Thorn circled and then dived at Saphira's backside again, powerful jaws gnashing.

_Arya, he's trying to make me throw Eragon off! _Saphira yelled, her voice agonized as she did a barrel roll out of the way. _Do something, Arya!_

Arya, eyes wide, turned to look behind her. Eragon was still gripping on to Saphira's tail, but Saphira's deflections were getting sloppy and Thorn was getting closer and closer to knocking Eragon off.

Arya gritted her teeth and turned around in the saddle. _Eragon! _She called. _Eragon, hurry! You have to get up in the saddle again!_

Eragon was quick to turn himself around, but getting up Saphira's long back was the trick – especially when another dragon was lunging and Saphira was constantly moving. Arya slid further down Saphira's back, holding tightly onto one of her spines, and reached out.

_Eragon! Grab hold! _

Eragon glanced behind him, right at Thorn. The dragon was preparing for another attack. Eragon looked back to Arya, his face grim. He stood quickly and dove for Arya and the saddle.

Arya somehow managed to catch Eragon in an awkward hug and slide them both into the saddle. Saphira careened to the left, coming face-to-face with Thorn. The crimson dragon caught hold of Saphira's neck armor, slamming his body viciously against hers.

The two dragons were locked like that, tearing at one another's underbellies, claws scrabbling across armor to find a weak spot. Eragon knew Thorn would find to such weak spot on Saphira's armor, and he had a feeling Thorn had none, either.

Arya, meanwhile, hurled a complex stunning spell toward Thorn. The dragon fell back momentarily, blinking dizzily. Saphira quickly disengaged and circled away, roaring.

_Briam! _Saphira cried suddenly, gem-like eyes darting around. _Briam is grounded! A spear pierced his wing!_

"Saphira!" Arya yelled. "Thorn!"

Thorn had recovered much more quickly than should have been possible and was coming back at her. His teeth managed to latch on to her tail. She let out an agonized roar and bucked. Eragon had been prepared for it and grabbed onto one of her spikes, gripping her saddle with both thighs.

Arya, however, hand not been. She was thrown bodily from Saphira's back, not even uttering a single cry as she fell.

_Arya! _Saphira screamed. She turned, gnashing her fangs into Thorn's uncovered nose. The dragon fell back, roaring, and Saphira plunged toward the plummeting elf.

Only thirty feet above the ground, Saphira caught Arya in one hand. Arya, sprawled on the dragon's hand, cried out, _Saphira, just drop me on the ground! I'll be better suited there than on your back!_

_No! _Eragon yelled, fear gripping him.

_She's right, Eragon, _Saphira argued, panic in her voice. _I cannot fight and worry about saving her! _Saphira slowed and dropped Arya on the ground. The elf was quick to run to an abandoned horse, felling five Empire soldiers in her path.

A deafening roar caught them all off guard as Shurikan smashed into Saphira, forcing her down on the ground. The larger dragon pinned her, one clawed foot digging into her back and another into her neck. He had caught her perfectly, so that his claws slid right between her armor and her scales in the small openings left there.

Saphira howled in pain. Eragon, feeling a phantom ghost of her agony, screamed as well. He turned, eyes half-lidded through the pain, and shouted, "_Eitha __malthinae_!"

The tree behind Shurikan seemed to bend toward the dragon before the leaves shook off violently and gripped Shurikan around the torso, forcefully pulling him off. Eragon felt the energy being sapped from him and Saphira cried, _Eragon! The energy in your sword! Take some of it!_

Eragon did as he was bade. He pulled_ Moi _from its belt and tapped into the energy stored in one of the rubies. Feeling refreshed, the colors around him coming back into full focus, he watched as Shurikan snapped at the leaves, attempting to break free.

Saphira launched herself into the air and Thorn was instantly assaulting them again. He lunged down toward Saphira, much in the way Shurikan had. Thorn, however, was much smaller and easier for Saphira to avoid. She rolled out of his way, looping up and over him. She grabbed onto his tail, much as he had done to her. The only difference was that once Saphira latched on, she tugged.

Thorn bellowed and Murtagh echoed the cry, no doubt feeling the pain of his dragon, as well. Saphira yanked Thorn Back by his tail, only to release him and attack the exposed part of his leg. Her teeth sank into the fleshy back-part of his foot and he attempted to pull away. His jerking made Saphira come away with a bloody mouth and a piece of his foot in her maw.

_ERAGON!_

Eragon glanced down to where Trianna, still on the grounded Briam's back, was frantically pointing. Shurikan was no longer bound in a leafy hold; he was flying toward the ramparts where a single, solitary person stood.

Nasuada, bound, gagged, and looking as though she were about to jump.

* * *

Author's Note:

CLIFF HANGER!

Hahahaa, that's right. Come on, now, you all had to know that was going to happen. I am infamous for my cliffies.

I would just like everyone to be aware that it took me about two days to finish this chapter... simply because, for some reason, my mind is off in lalaland. I literally sat down to start this chapter on Sunday and ended up playing on myspace the entire time. And then on Monday I ended up getting sidetracked playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl and "researching" for my Jak and Daxter fanfiction... which really just translates to me reading a shit-ton of J&D fanfics.

And so, yeah... I dunno. I think it's just because I absolutely abhor writing fight scenes... I am terrible at them, lol. So I guess I was just delaying the inevitable.

Ah, so, songs for this chapter. Pre-battle, I listened to a bunch of Natasha Bedingfield and Duffy. Odd combination, I know. Mainly "I Bruise Easily" and "Wild Horses" by Natasha. "Warwick Avenue" for Duffy. For the battle scene I had the song "**Run to the Water**" by **Live** on repeat. This is a song I **_insist_**everyone listen to. It's a brilliant song and fits this battle scene so well. There's an amazing music video for the song on YouTube. I suggest everyone check it out.

**ONE LAST THING: I am holding this next chapter HOSTAGE until I get a lot of reviews. Come on, this chapter DESERVES a lot of comments, right? A lot has happened! So hop to it! I WANT A LOT OF THEM before I post the next part (which, might I add, is already written. :D ) I'm not joking this time. LOTS OF REVIEWS, PEOPLE. I know you can do it, you've done it before!**

Love love,

Eternity


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

**Somewhere Out There**

* * *

_NO, you stupid girl! _Galbatorix cried out, feeling Shurikan's panic matching his own. _What is she trying to do?!_

_Avoid her fate, _Shirikan growled, swinging around quickly. He barreled toward the Varden rule just as she stepped off of the parapet.

Galbratorix reached out, grabbing her around her upper arms, swinging her into the saddle in front of him. "_You_," he growled, "are getting on my last nerve, princess. Did you honestly think I would let you fall to your death and my doom?"

Nasuada attempted to speak, but the gag in her mouth restricted her words to muffled gurgles. Galbatorix sighed, untying the gag. Once it was removed, Nasuada only smiled calmly at him. "I knew you wouldn't allow me to fall, Galbatorix. I simply wanted to get the attention of my dear rider so he might be aware to the coming events."

_Damn her, _Shurikan hissed. _Orders, master?_

_Take us to the top. I shall continue this battle inside. Murtagh! _He called out. _Lead Eragon to me. I have a treat for him – and you._

* * *

Murtagh had been busy trying to mend Thorn's foot when Nasuada's stunt had taken place. He was still attempting to patch up the torn muscle and tissue; yet, without the other chunk of the dragon's foot, it was nearly impossible.

_You have done your best, Murtagh, _Thorn murmured. _It ceases to pain me now._

_I am so sorry, Thorn, _Murtagh murmured, truly meaning it. He stroked the dragon's jaw when Galbatorix's command came crashing through his mind. _Damnit, _he cursed. _Do you think you can fly and land on the parapet? _

_Yes, Murtagh, _he replied, flexing his wings. He stood, a bit lopsidedly. Favoring his mangled foot, he waited patiently for Murtagh to climb onto his back.

Once Murtagh was stationed, he called out to Eragon. _Follow me! The real battle shall ensue inside._

Arya glanced up from the man she had just felled, noticing the dragons all heading for the castle. _Eragon! _She called out, turning her horse around and charging toward the castle. _Eragon, wait!_

_Arya, you should stay, _Eragon replied gently. His tone was grim and there was something like calm acceptance in his voice. _I don't want you near any of this._

_Eragon, you can't leave me out here while you go off to die! _She kicked her horse's side, making its gallop speed up into an all-out run.

Eragon was silent for a time. Saphira touched down beside Thorn and Shurikan on the battlements. The two dragons regarded her coolly but made no move to attack.

_Take these stairs down to the main level, _Shurikan told Eragon in his gravelly growl. _They will be waiting for you in the main ballroom, the first door on your left._

Eragon nodded before turning to Saphira. _So long, Saphira._

Saphira shook her head. _This is not over yet, Eragon. _She nudged Eragon's shoulder with her snout, adding, _We still have to grow old with our lovers and each other, you know._

Eragon smiled gratefully at the dragon, kissing her nose. _I love you._

_And I, you._

_Stay here and stay safe? _Eragon requested.

_As long as you promise to stay safe, as well, _Saphira rebutted.

Eragon grinned. _Of course. _He then turned away from her, feeling both her worry and those of another one very close to his heart. Reaching out to the elf on the ground, he whispered, _I love you._

_Eragon! _Arya cried. _Eragon, no! You should not be going in alone!_

_This is my destiny, Arya, and I am going to face it without fear._

Silence met his words before she finally returned, _I will always love you._

* * *

The war below them was escalating. Saphira watched from the ramparts, unease clawing at her insides. _I am going-_

_No, you are not, _Thorn responded from where he had laid down on the cold stones. _We must remain here and out of harm's way._

_And why is that? _Saphira demanded harshly.

_Because our death could result in the death of our Rider, _Shurikan explained patiently. _You have much to learn, baby sister. We are not the important ones; nor are those on the ground. The important ones are those who hold our reins. We are merely their beasts of burden._

Saphira growled, agitated. _You may be nothing but a common beast of burden, _she snapped, _but I am not._

She then launched herself into the air, hearing the cries from both dragons behind her. She had no intention of getting killed, or hurt, or whatever else they were expecting. She intended to protect those she loved.

Briam, grounded from an arrow-shredded wing, was gnashing foot soldiers between his teeth while Trianna cast spell after spell from his back. Abbila had slid off of his back and was felling just as many foes as Arya, her doppleganger speed coming out.

Saphira joined the smaller emerald dragon in reeking mayhem with her jaws. She folded her wings down, making them impenetrable, and yelled for Briam to do the same. As such, covered from snout-to-tail in armor, the two become reptilian war machines.

* * *

Arya had finally broken through the mess of soldiers and was bearing down upon the city walls. Her horse had begun drooling from her harsh pace, but she was unconcerned. It was only a little ways off...

And then she noticed the spiked timber set up in the form of a barricade just in front of the drawbridge. _Jump, _she urged the horse in the Ancient Language. She felt the animal tense up in preparation and then leap.

The horse sailed easily over the barricade; but then Arya glanced down. Spears had been set up strategically on the other side; anyone who had attempted to get over the barricade would be impaled.

Without so much as a second thought, Arya flipped off of the horse, landing safely on the other side. She turned away before she could see the horse's body hit the spikes; she heard it, however, and it was enough to make her want to vomit.

Trying not to think of anything but Eragon, she launched herself toward the moat. _Sleep, _she ordered the crocodiles who laid in wait.

_Eragon, you fool, _Arya murmured to herself as she swam through the dank water. _Do not die on me._

* * *

Eragon stood across from Murtagh, his eyes narrowed and _Moi _drawn. Murtagh was looking thinner; malnourished and hunched over, as though there were something wrong with his spine. It pained Eragon to see his once-strong, resilient brother reduced to this.

"Shall we begin, children?" Galbatorix questioned.

Murtagh drew Zar'roc, meeting Eragon's eyes meaningfully. He then tossed his blade down.

"I order you to fight," Galbatorix commanded.

"Yes," Murtagh grinned rashly. "You ordered me to fight. But you never specified fighting with my sword. I shall raise my firsts against Eragon and his mighty blade. Then we shall see how worthy I am."

Eragon shook his head. "No, brother. I will not fight you unfairly."

Murtagh shrugged. "And I will not kill you and leave this despicable man as ruler of Alagaesia."

"It seems we have reached a conundrum, Murtagh... for you see," Galbatroix groused, "you really have no choice but to do as I say."

Murtagh turned to the older man, blatant hatred on his face. "And why would that be?"

Galbatorix's smile was so pristine as he motioned for a guard standing nearby to come forward. "Because, I believe I have something of yours you would kill to protect. Two things, in fact."

The guard brought forth Nasuada, now free of her gag but still bound at her hands.

Eragon watched as Murtagh's face crumpled upon seeing her. "No," he whispered, pain in his voice. "Galbatorix... no. Why..."

"Because I knew you would pull a stunt like this, boy," he snapped, losing his calm edge. "Now kill the boy or your lovely girl and the bastard child in her belly will die."

"No, Murtagh," Nasuada pleaded. "Think this over! The lives of everyone in Alagaesia, or mine!"

Murtagh turned, eyes like the depths of hell. He looked long and hard at Eragon before he knelt, picking up his sword. "Yours," was his simple answer. He then launched himself at Eragon with a terrible shriek that sounded less than human.

Eragon threw _Moi _up, parrying, feeling the force behind Murtagh's blow echoing through his very bones. "Murtagh, I wish her to live, as well, but there has to be another choice!"

"There are no choices with Galbatorix," Murtagh replied, disengaged his sword and falling back. He circled Eragon, scanning the boy for a weakness. "There are only orders and pain. I am following this last order so no one else has to feel that pain."

Murtagh came at him again, swiping rashly at Eragon's unprotected left flank. Eragon circled out of the way, swiping at Murtagh's left arm. The blade slid noiselessly across Murtagh's sleeve, slitting the material but not the skin.

"You've gotten better," Murtagh panted, the fire of excitement and desperation dancing behind his eyes.

"You've gotten slower," Eragon replied, circling around Murtagh and lashing out toward his feet. Murtagh jumped, bringing Zar'roc in a sharp, downward curve that Eragon was just barely able to avoid. Rolling out of the way and landing in a crouch, Eragon looked up at his brother. "I do not wish to kill you, brother."

Murtagh sighed. "Then I ask your deepest and humblest apologies for the fact that we have no choice." And then Eragon felt it. Murtagh was trying to enter his mind. Eragon felt panic grip him; he attepted to throw up his mental barriers, but nothing was worthing. The fingers of Murtagh's mind were scrabbling through Eragon's brain, grabbing hold of synapses and _squeezing._

Eragon fell to his knees, screaming. _Moi _fell from his fingers and he was left clutching his throbbing head. Amid all of the pain, Eragon did not notice the stone attached to his amulet searing into his flesh. Without warning, the pain was lifted and Murtagh was thrown, bodily, across the room by an unseen force. Eragon slowly clamored to his feet, bringing _Moi _with him. Panting, Eragon watching as Murtagh attempted to pull himself off of the ground.

Flecked with stone that had broken off of the wall upon his impact, Murtagh stood, cradling his left arm. A tiny rivulet of blood seeped from his busted lip, but Murtagh was smiling. "That's tricky of you, brother. I didn't know you had it in you to play dirty."

"Pick up your sword, Murtagh."

Murtagh glanced over at Galbatorix who held tightly to Nasuada's arm. The woman seemed unmoved and watched the fight with clear, level eyes. The guard standing beside them seemed as though he were made of stone. He did not move once; only the quick darting of his silvery eyes behind a fringe of dark hair gave him away as alive.

Murtagh bent, taking up Zar'roc with his right hand. He stumbled toward Eragon, teeth gritted. "I am sorry, brother." And then he took a breath, raised his hand, and cried, "_Oro!"_

The antique battle arms around the room shook in their casings. Arrow quivers toppled over and the arrows shot out from the glass casements, hurtling toward Eragon.

"Eragon!" Nasuada screamed.

"_Stenr!" _someone cried out, their voice peircing the air.

The rocks around Eragon burst out of the plaster of the ground, creating a impenetrable sheild. The rocks glowed with a soft green light.

The arrows clattered to the ground, soon followed by the rocks. Murtagh fell against the wall, drained and gasping for breath. Eragon glanced around for his savior, only to find Arya sagging in the entryway.

"Arya, no," Eragon whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"I was not aware that this was a free-for-all brawl," Galbatorix groused, stepping forward while dragging Nasuada along. "I do not remember inviting you, elf."

There was a sharp whistling sound and Arya was suddenly no longer standing. Her body had crumpled as an arrow smashed into her chest.

"Arya!" Eragon screamed, his own heart stopping for a beat. He turned to run to her side, but a voice stopped him.

"Your fight... is with... me, Rider," Murtagh gasped. His eyes were attempting to roll back; he had no strength left. He had used too much magic and no conserved any in case his attacks failed. The bow in his hand slipped and clattered to the cobblestone.

Eragon strode purposefully over to where Murtagh leaned against the wall. He grabbed Murtagh around the throat, pure hatred coursing through his veins. He shoved Murtagh against the wall, loving the satisfying smack the boy's head made as it connected with the stone. Eragon began to speak, smashing Murtagh against the stone between each new word. "You. Made. A. Mistake. Murtagh."

Murtagh's face was a mess of blood that burbled from his stuttering, choking mouth. "Kill... kill Galb... save Nas...uada..."

Eragon released his brother and turned, quickly. Galbatorix's face was now a mask of confusion. It was as though he was unprepared for the events that had just occurred. Shaking his head, Galbatorix growled, "You will not have my head, boy. Not unless I take someone of yours along with me."

He drew his sword, the great onyx blade, and turned it to Nasuada's neck.

"_Knifr!"_

All stood still. Galbatorix's eyes widened and his blade dropped from his hand. Nasuada broke free of him and ran over to Murtagh, taking the beaten, bloody man in her arms. And slowly, slowly Galbatorix fell to his knees.

Standing behind him was Abbila, a jagged green blade bursting forth from her palm. Eragon had only seen her do this once, and that had been against Arya. Now, she was shoving it into Galbatorix's back.

Galbatorix's cold eyes were widened in shock as Eragon approached him. But soon the shock faded and he began to laugh. "Do you think a common knife could kill me, Eragon? Not even your blade will be able to save your petty lives from me."

Galbatorix stood, seeming to tower above Eragon. He spread his arms wide, gloatingly. "Try to kill me, Eragon. Your blade is not enough."

Eragon shoved his blade into Galbatorix, right between the third and fourth ribs, piercing right through the heart.

Galbatorix stood, laughing.

Eragon closed his eyes and uttered a single phrase, channeling all of his energy to Galbatorix. This was Eragon's destiny. _V__anyalí_ _un weohnata._

The earth around them seemed to still. The leaves ceased their fluttering in the wind outside. Every living organism outside paused.

And then there was a chaos of mother nature rising and channeling through _Moi_ – directly into Galbatorix's body.

Galbatorix screamed, the sound shrill and echoing in the castle walls. He sank to his knees once again, eyes meeting Eragon's. Like a phantom, his voice seemed to come from far away. "This is not the end, Eragon."

Eragon shook his head. "I am glad we agree. For this is only the beginning." And then he brought _Moi,_ still thrumming with the energy of the planet, down upon the dark king once again. The blade severed his head and the echoes of a dying dragon filled the air.

* * *

Eragon wasn't sure what was happening as it happened; all he knew was that Galbatorix's blood was on his blade and his task was finally completed. He turned away from the carnage before him and dropped _Moi. _

He was at Arya's side instantly. "Arya?" he asked, feeling tears stinging his eyes. "Arya, please..."

Arya's eyes flickered open, fluttering. "Eragon?"

Eragon's heart gave a frantic leap of joy and he whispered, "Yes, Arya... it is done. It is over; Galbatorix is dead. I need to get this arrow out of you so that I can heal you, alright?"

Arya shook her head. "Barbed... barbed arrow. You have to..." she broke off, moaning in the pain. "Break it off and push it through."

Eragon nodded, feeling queasy at the implications but doing as he was bade. He lay her down on the ground gently and grabbed the arrow, breaking the shaft off. "Are you ready?" he asked as he helped her to sit up.

"Yes," she whispered, eyes sliding closed.

"Arya, keep speaking to me," he ordered. "Talk to me, tell me something."

"I was scared," she whispered against his shoulder. Her voice was heavy and foggy, as though she were drifting between sleep and wakefulness. "I have never felt the fear I felt when I saw you riding away. I could not stand the thought-"

Eragon took that moment to shove the arrow through. Arya let out an agonized cry, her head flying back and lips open to the thick, muggy air that smelled of death. Eragon quickly grabbed the arrow from the other side, pulling it fully out. He then laid her down, whispering, "Keep talking, Arya."

Arya began speaking in the Ancient Language, her words disjointed and fractured. Her words made little sense, but it wasn't the conversation Eragon needed; it was the assurance that she was still awake and alive. He went about healing the muscle and tissue that the arrow had pierced and, finally, healing the flesh itself.

When he was finished he felt queasy but took a bit more of the stored energy from _Moi. _

"How are you feeling, Rider?"

Eragon turned to see the guard that had stood beside Galbatorix through the entire fight. His dark hair fell around a pale, flawless face and kind silver eyes.

Eragon thought on the question at hand. How did he feel? He wasn't even sure. He was still in the shock of what had transpired. But as Eragon stood, leaning down the help Arya up, he caught sight of the dead body of Galbatorix.

To their right, Abbila was knelt over Murtagh, healing his many wounds and knitting together his skull. Murtagh was speaking on soft, hushed tones with Nasuada, who still cradled him like a child.

Eragon looked back to the man before him and smiled. "I feel as if I just saved the world."

The man chuckled softly. "And that you did, Rider, and I am glad you have."

Arya nodded, seeming to be more herself after the healing. "We are all glad he has, aren't we... Faolin?"

The dark haired man before them smiled sadly at Arya. Pressing his fingertips to his lips, he whispered, "I no longer go by that name, my princess. That man has died many times; once in the cells of Galbatorix, and once at the sight of his love in the arms of another."

"Faolin-"

"I blame you not," he said quickly, holding his hands up as if asking for pardon. "Nor do I blame you, Sir Eragon. No one is at fault for the things this war has wrought but the man lying dead there." Faolin's pale eyes lighted upon Galbatorix's broken form and a true smile spread across his face.

"Let us go see what has become of the battle outside." Faolin offered his arm to Eragon in a sign of brotherhood, as was custom among the warriors after battle. "What say you, Argetlam?"

Eragon nodded, gripping Faolin's upper arm as Faolin did the same to Eragon's. "I say you are well spoken, Faolin."

* * *

The fighting had, to everyone's surprise, stopped altogether.

When the black dragon of the Empire died on the parapets and toppled into the moat, the winds of change blew. The Empire's fighters, most of whom were simple farmers and peasants who had suffered under Galbatorix's rule, fell to their knees. A white flag of surrender was raised and all weapons were dropped.

Eragon, standing on the high ramparts, raised his arm. Faolin on his left and Arya to his right, he cried out, "The Empire is now free! Galbatorix's reign has come to an end!"

The sounds in the valley outside of Uru'Baen had never been so joyous or so loud.

* * *

Author's Note:

Okay, first off, the songs for this chapter (and in this exact order, too): "Satellite," by Guster. "Caring is Creepy," "Pink Bullets," and "New Slang" by The Shins. "Run" and "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. "Such Great Heights" by Iron and Wine. "You Can Keep Me Up All Night" The Glitterati. "Don't Fear The Reaper" HIM. "Forever" by Vertical Horizon.

And secondly, just as a humorous note... and I am sure anyone else who has ever seen the anime Rorouni Kenshin picked up on this... When Murtagh yelled 'oro' for the arrows... I kept seeing Kenshin tilting his head to the side, going "Oro?" And it completely ruined the mood for me.

Also... **there's only one chapter left.** ... And I went ahead and uploaded it for you, too. ;) That's right, a two-for-one, deal... as a kind of thank you for sticking with the story this long.

**But, because I am narcissistic... if you could please review both chapters I would be extremely grateful. **

Love love,

Eternity


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

**All Good Things Come to an End**

* * *

Murtagh felt the sweat trickle down his back as the sun beat down on him harshly.

"Murtagh, maybe you should take a break!" Kelf called up to him, smiling. "You're not going to get that roof done today no matter how long you work on it.

Murtagh grinned, sliding off of the roof he was helping construct. "You are right about that, Kelf," he said, taking the water Kelf handed him. "Perhaps if someone would come up there and help me instead of slipping off to visit his new wife ever half hour..."

Kelf blushed guiltily. "I'm sorry, Murtagh. It isn't how it sounds, though..."

Murtagh laughed heartily. "I know, Kelf, I know. But do you think you could take over for me so I might go get some lunch with my lovely wife?"

"'Course, Murtagh," he agreed, taking Murtagh's hammer and the pack of nails. "I'll see you when you get back."

Murtagh trudged up the road of Carvahall, watching as new buildings seemed to go up on a daily basis. The little town was flourishing again. With luck, the houses would all be rebuilt and finished in time for the fall when the traders came through.

Murtagh pushed open the door to the Free Moon Inn and Tavern, smiling at Nasuada who bustled busily around behind the bar. She turned and caught sight of him and her dark features lit up. "Why hello there," she greeted warmly. "Is Thorn coming here for lunch or going hunting? I still have the deer that will go bad shortly if it isn't eaten. There's no way you and I could ever hope to finish it."

"He's hunting," Murtagh confirmed, setting down his tools and a sweat-cloth on one of the chairs in front of the door. "Are you doing alright in here by yourself? Should I get Kelf's wife to come down here and keep you company?"

"I am fine, you worrywart," Nasuada chuckled and she bustled over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "How is the house coming along?"

Murtagh nodded. "Well enough. With luck, we can move in by the coming fortnight." He leaned down, catching her lips with his. They tasted of berries.

He grinned. "Getting into the boysenberry pie again?"

"We are all allowed to have our addictions," she teased, pulling away and wandering over to the bassinet in the corner. Inside, their daughter Melaidren was sleeping soundly. "She's getting all her rest in now so she can keep you up all night," Nasuada winked at Murtagh.

"I see," he laughed, coming to look down at the caramel-skinned, black haired child that claimed half of his heart. He pulled Nasuada to him, resting his head on hers, whispering, "I am blessed to have you both."

And the woman who had claim to the other half of his heart smiled. "Everyone living to see this freedom we have is blessed."

* * *

"I do not deserve this," Angela argued, watching the new king's calm, compassionate eyes.

"You have served the Varden well in all you have done, Angela," King Roran explained calmly. "And though you claim to have given Nasuada over to Galbatorix, she says this was not the case. She claims she was walking along the parapet and he snatched her away; that you were nowhere near the exchange." The lie Nasuada had bade him to tell others came easily and effortlessly.

"But I-"

Roran smiled down at her. "Angela... we ask that you be the official healer and nursemaid in the new Empire. Do you accept?"

Tears of gratitude flowing down her face, Angela nodded. "Thank you, Rorin. And Katrina. Thank you both so very much."

Roran inclined his head to her before adding, "If you would be so kind, Angela, would you check in to the nursery and look after little Aiden for us? Oh, and this was a parting gift from Nasuada that she wished me to give to you upon this day."

"I would be honored, sire," she murmured, bowing once more to the couple before hurrying off, the note clutched in hand.

Roran knew the gist of the letter – it was a letter of forgiveness and one of acceptance. Though Roran understood Angela's divinations were what had led her astray, he was still surprised by Nasauada's easy forgiveness.

Next in the procession was Orik, who bowed humbly before them. "King Roran, Queen Katrina. On behalf of our King Heklde, I come before you as the Dwarven delegate, sworn to serve you as best as I may."

A wide grin broke across Roran's face. "And glad we are to have you. It has been a while, my friend."

Orik nodded his bushy head, smile broad. "Aye, that it has."

"Please, sit beside us," Roran offered, gesturing to one of the many empty seats to his right. "These have yet to be filled with delegates and I would be pleased to have you there with them."

And finally King Orrin stepped up, bowing quickly before coming up to the throne and taking Roran in a hug. "You will do well, my boy. If you ever need any tips on ruling, you know where to find me." He smiled before waving a goodbye. "We return to Surda now; we have been gone from home much too long."

"Thank you for helping with the rebuilding of the merchant sector and the walls," Roran said, gratitude shining in his eyes. "You helped much."

Orrin bowed one last time. "That is what true rulers do; they help one another."

Katrina and Roran smiled at one another, and then at their growing Court. "This is certainly the beginning of a new era," Roran announced. That day, there was no a single dour face in procession.

* * *

Eragon rolled over, inhaling her fresh scent; the pine of her hair and the spice of her skin filled his nose, intoxicating him. He felt her stretch, her shoulder popping as she moved in his arms. "Is it time already?" she asked softly, her voice like crushed velvet.

He kissed her shoulder gently before murmuring, "We do not have to leave if you wish to stay, Arya."

She rolled over in his arms, her smile delicate. "I do," she murmured, meeting her lips with his. "As much as I love Ellesmera... this is not where we belong."

Eragon felt love welling within him. He helped Arya out of bed; it had gotten harder for her to move recently. She was hardly used to having extra weight; the pregnancy had made her wobbly on her tiny feet. They dressed slowly before exiting the large Drottningu family palace.

Islanzadi was waiting for them at the docks, which were hidden in the dark depths of the forest. The ocean stretched out before them; tethered to the dock was their ship, glimmering like a silver fish in the morning light.

Eragon and Arya greeted Islanzadi silently, placing their fingers to their lips. Islanzadi returned the gesture before coming to hug Eragon. "Take care of her, and your children," she bade him.

"This I can easily promise you," Eragon replied, embracing the woman warmly. "Thank you for all you have done... and thank you for believing in me."

Islanzadi smiled, pulling back and placing a kiss on Eragon's forehead. "You have saved us all, my dear Rider. Any thanks or affection you have for me and my actions cannot rival those I have for you and yours."

The regal Queen them moved to her daughter. She gently wrapped her arms around her, murmuring, "I will miss you, daughter of mine. I hope your travels are long and scenic and your waters calm." She pulled back, kissing her daughter's forehead as well. "Your father would be proud to see you like this. No longer withdrawn and stubborn."

"I beg to differ on the stubborn part," Eragon teased, making Islanzadi laugh. Arya rolled her eyes, but there was a bright smile on her perfect features. "Goodbye, mother. Take care."

"Would you mind if I said farewell, as well?"

Arya turned to find her first love standing hesitantly at the edge of the forest. She glanced over at Eragon, who looked startled but was smiling.

Faolin stepped out of the trees, coming first to Eragon. He greeted him respectfully with the usual gesture before bowing. "I thank you, Rider, for all you have done. This world is a much safer, much more enjoyable place. Though what I will do without a sword in my hand is questionable," he joked softly.

Eragon took Faolin's arm in a salute of brotherhood. "You need not thank me. I am proud to say I have met you, Faolin. I thank the Gods, or whatever blessed being there is, that you survived."

Faolin's smile was genuine as he nodded to Eragon. He then moved to Arya. He stood before her awkwardly, before taking her into a hesitant hug. "I will miss you."

Arya returned the hug, and as she pulled away she smiled softly. "Things never change or end; they just progress and move along." With that, she turned and took Eragon's hand. "Are we ready?"

Eragon nodded, turning to the boat. He could see that their other passenger was already aboard. The passenger was excitedly running from one end of the boat to the other, watching the fish dart beneath the water.

As Eragon and Arya boarded, Abbila looked up at them with her bright blue eyes and grinned. "I've never been on a real adventure before!"

Arya laughed. "You don't think trekking across Alagaesia in order to defeat an evil warlord is an adventure?"

Abbila snorted. "Not a chance. This is much more exciting! Vroengard, here we come!" she called before tearing off toward the lower decks.

Arya and Eragon watched as the boat slipped away from the Alagaesian shore. Faolin had fallen to his knees, silent tears streaming down his face. Arya closed her eyes and turned to look at the sun rising behind them.

Trying to comfort her, Eragon rested on hand on Arya's swollen belly. He feelt the faint kicks of their first child beneath his hand.

"Will you miss them?" she asked softly. "All those we leave behind?"

Eragon kissed Arya's cheek gently before pulling her into his arms. "Of course I will miss them. But there is nothing to fear any longer. I know they will be safe and happy... all of them. All I need I have; right here."

After a spell of silence, Eragon whispered, "If it's a boy... what do you think of naming him Faolin?"

Arya was silent for a long moment before she looked up at him. Her eyes were swimming in tears and she was smiling. "And if it is a girl," Arya began softly, resting her cheek against his chest, "we shall name her Selena."

And as the boat rocked slowly on its way to the West, two dragons circled lazily above the boat. One shimmered as green as the forests they left behind, while the other was the sapphire blue of the ocean they traveled on.

* * *

Author's Final Note:

And now I can finally say, "Fin." :)

And can I just point out that I managed to get almost ever damn woman in this fandom pregnant? :p CP should be envious of me; he's only getting ONE of his leading ladies knocked up. ;)

I actually had a reader tell me that CP mentioned reading my fanfiction and being in contact with me about buying certain rites from me... to which I would like to say is completely untrue. If you have heard any of these rumors, feel free to dismiss them. I have never been contacted by CP and doubt I ever will be. I'm just some 19 year old with time on her hands. :p

Songs for this chapter: "Homecoming," by Kanye West featuring Chris Martin;"All Good Things Come To An End," by Nelly Furtado featuring Chris Martin; and "Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love" Coldplay.

It has been an amazing run, everyone. Here's to two -almost three!- years of Eragon. Thanks for sticking with me through the good and the bad.

Love love,

Eternity


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